MADCAP  VIOLET 


BY 

WILLIAM     BLACK 


AUTHOR   OF 


YoLANDE,"  "Strange  Adventures  OF  A  Phaeton,"  "Sunrise, 
"MACLEOD  OF  Dare,"  "Shandon  Bells,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN   W.    LOVELL   COMPANY, 

14  AND  16  Vesey  Street. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.      "  YOU   DEVIL  !  " I 

II.      CARPE  DIEM 6 

III.  A   SUBURBAN   PHILOSOPHER ,....  I3 

IV.  FLUTTERINGS  NEAR  THE   FLAME 22 

V.      SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES 36 

VI.      CRABBED   AGE  AND   YOUTH 46 

VII.      A   SUMMER    day's    RIDE 54 

VIII.      ENGLAND,    FAREWELL  ! 71 

IX.      CCELUM   NON   ANIMUM 75 

X.      A   MESSAGE   HOME 79 

XI.      HOME 89 

XII.      WALPURGIS-NIGHT 99 

XIII.  FIRE   AND   WATER II 3 

XIV.  "  LIKE  GETTING    HOME  AGAIN  " II9 

XV.      MISTAKEN    GUESSES 1 26 

XVI.      AMONG    SOME  PICTURES I37 

XVII.      FROM   NORTH  TO   SOUTH 146 

XVIII.      CASTLE    BANDBOX,   N.    B r52 

XIX.      ABRA 170 

XX.      SETTING  OUT I76 

XXI.      "  RAIN,   WIND,  AND   SPEED  " 1 83 

XXII.      THE  MAGIC   MERGANSER I90 

XXIII.  A    CRISIS 206 

XXIV.  LOVE   WENT    A-SAILING 2x6 

XXV.      FOREBODINGS 223 

XXVI.      LOCH  CORUISK 235 

XXVII.      UNDER  THE  BLACK  CUCHULLINS 241 

XXVIIL      CROSS-CURRENTS 244 

XXIX.      HOMEWARD   BOUND 256 

XXX.      CHALLENGED 267 

XXXI.      "  FAREWELL  !    FAREWELL  !"...! 274 

M45S16 


IV. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 

XLV. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 


PAGE. 

IN   LONDON 280 

THE  LAURELS  AT   WOMBLEY   FLAT.  . 29I 

AN   ENCOUNTER 300 

TIDINGS 306 

IN    A  THEATRE 312 

AN  EPITAPH 318 

PREPARATIONS   FOR   FLIGHT 324 

"  SOUL  TO   SOUL  !  " 337 

UNINVITED   GUESTS 34I 

A   BRINGER  OF   EVIL 349 

REPENTANCE 356 

AT  LAST  ! 367 

JOY  AND    FEAR : 375 

"O   GENTLE  WIND   THAT   BLOWETH   SOUTH!".    379 

hope's  WINGS „ 384 

DU   SCHMERZENSREICHE  ! 390 


MADCAP  VIOLET. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"you  devil!* 


There  was  a  great  silence  in  the  school-room.  A  young 
girl  of  sixteen  or  seventeen,  tall  and  strikingly  handsome  in 
figure,  with  abundant  masses  of  raven-black  hair,  dark  eyes 
under  darker  eyelashes,  and  proud  and  well-cut  lips,  walked 
up  to  the  school-mistress's  table.  There  was  scarcely  any 
thing  of  malice  or  mischief  visible  in  the  bold  carelessness 
of  her  face. 

The  school-mistress  looked  up  from  some  accounts  she  had 
been  studying. 

"  Well,  Miss  North  ? "  she  said,  with  marked  surprise. 

"  I  have  a  question  to  ask,  if  you  please,  Miss  Main,"  said 
the  handsome  young  lady,  with  great  coolness  and  delibera- 
tion (and  all  the  school  was  now  listening  intently).  "  I  wish 
to  ask  what  sort  of  society  we  are'  expected  to  meet  when  we 
go  abroad,  and  whether  foreigners  are  in  the  habit  of  using 
language  which  is  not  usually  applied  to  ladies  in  this  country. 
Half  an  hour  ago,  when  we  were  having  our  German  conver- 
sation with  Dr.  Siedl,  he  made  use  of  a  very  odd  phrase,  and  I 
believe  it  was  addressed  to  me.  He  said,  'You  devil ! '  I 
only  wish  to  ask,  Miss  Main,  whether  we  must  be  prepared  to 
hear  such  phrases  in  the  conversation  of  foreigners." 

The  school-mistress's  thin,  gray,  care-worn  face  grew  red 
with  mortification.  Yet,  what  could  she  do  ?  There  was 
nothing  openly  rebellious  in  the  demeanor  of  this  incorrigible 
girl — nothing,  indeed,  but  a  cool  impe^j;inence,  which  was 
outwardly  most  respectful. 

"  You  may  return  to  your  seat.  Miss  North,"  she  said,  rising. 
"  I  will  inquire  into  this  matter  at  once." 

Miss  Main,  who  was  the  proprietor  as  well  as  the  head- 
mistress of  the  school,  was  greatly  perturbed  by  this  incident ; 


2  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

and  she  was  quite  nervous  and  excited  when  she  went  into 
the  rot>m; where  die  German  master  still  sat,  correcting  some 
exercises;  When'  he- saw*  her  enter,  he  rose  at  once;  he 
guesse^L  from  her.  oianner  what  had  happened.  The  young 
man-Hn  the  siTfJibby  ;  clonics  was  even  more  excited  than  she 
was ;  and  why  ?  Because,  two  years  before,  he  had  left  his 
home  in  the  old-fashioned  little  fortress  of  Nesse,  in  Silesia, 
and  he  had  bid  good-bye  then  to  a  young  girl  whom  he  hoped 
to  made  his  wife.  England  was  a  rich  country.  A  few  years 
of  absence  would  put  money  in  his  pocket ;  and  he  would 
return  with  a  good  English  pronunciation,  which  would  be  of 
value.  So  he  came  to  England:  but  he  did  not  find  the 
streets  paved  with  gold.  It  was  after  long  waiting  that  he  got 
his  first  appointment ;  and  that  appointment  was  the  German 
mastership  at  Miss  Main's  school.  At  the  present  moment 
he  believed  he  had  forfeited  this  one  chance. 

He  came  forward  to  her ;  and  she  might  have  seen  that 
there  was  something  very  like  tears  in  his  pale-blue  eyes. 

"  Yes,  she  has  told  you,  and  it  is  quite  true,"  said  he,  throw- 
ing out  his  hands.  "  What  can  I  say  ?  But,  if  you  will  for- 
gif  it,  I  will  apolochise  to  her — I  was  mad — I  do  not  know 
how  I  haf  said  soch  a  ting  to  a  young  lady  ;  but  I  will  apolo- 
chise to  her,  Meess  Main — " 

Miss  Main  had  pulled  herself  together  by  this  time. 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know  what  to  do  with  her.  Dr.  Siedl," 
said  she,  in  a  sort  of  despairing  way.  "  I  have  no  doubt  she 
irritated  you  beyond  endurance  ;  and  although  I  am  afraid 
you  must  apologize  to  her,  I  can  quite  understand  how  you 
were  maddened  by  her.  Sometimes  I  do  think  she  is  a  devil 
— that  she  has  no  human  soul  in  her.  She  thinks  of  nothing 
but  mischief  from  morning  till  night ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is, 
that  she  leads  the  whole  school  into  mischief  ;  for  all  the  girls 
appear  to  be  fascinated  by  her,  and  will  do  any  thing  she  asks. 
I  don't  understand  it.  You  know  how  often  I  have  threatened 
her  with  expulsion  :  she  does  not  mind.  Sometimes  I  think 
I  must  really  get  rid  of  her ;  for  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
preserve  the  discipline  of  the  school  while  she  is  in  it." 

The  German  master  was  so  overjoyed  to  find  his  own 
position  secured,  and  his  offense  practically  condoned,  that  he 
grew  generous. 

"  And  she  is  so  clafer,"  said  he. 

"  Clever  ?  "  repeated  the  school-mistress.  "  During  the 
whole  of  my  twenty-five  years'  experience  in  schools,  I  have 
never  seen  a  scholar  to  equal  her.  There  is  nothing  she  can 
not  do  when  she  takes  it  into  her  head  to  do  it.     You  saw 


YOU  DEVIL!  3, 

how  she  ran  up  her  marks  in  French  and  German  last  term — • 
and  ahnost  at  the  end  of  the  term — merely  because  she  had 
a  spite  against  Miss  Wolf,  and  was  determined  she  should 
not  have  the  two  prizes  that  she  expected.  And  that  is 
another  part  of  the  mischief  she  does.  Whenever  she  takes 
a  special  liking  to  a  girl  she  does  her  exercises  for  her  in  the 
evening.  It  costs  her  no  trouble  ;  and  then  she  has  them 
ready  to  go  with  her  in  every  frolic.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  her." 

The  school-mistress  sighed. 

"  You  see,"  she  added,  with  a  frank  honesty,  "  it  is  naturally 
a  great  thing  for  a  school  like  mine  to  have  the  daughter  of 
Sir  Acton  North  in  it.  Every  body  has  heard  of  him  :  then 
the  girls  go  home  and  tell  their  mothers  that  a  daughter  of 
Lady  North  is  at  our  school ;  then  the  mothers — you  know 
what  some  people  are — talk  of  that  to  their  friends,  and 
speak  of  Lady  North  as  if  they  had  known  her  all  their 
lives.  I  do  not  know  Lady  North  myself,  but  I  am  sure  she  is 
a  wise  woman  not  to  have  this  girl  in  the  same  house  with  her." 

After  a  few  words  more,  Miss  Main  went  back  to  the 
school-room ;  and  we  must  do  likewise,  to  narrate  all  that 
befell  in  her  absence.  First  of  all,  it  was  the  invidious  duty 
of  a  small,  fair-haired,  gentle-eyed  girl,  called  Amy  Warrener, 
to  take  a  slate  and  write  down  on  it  the  names  of  any  of  her 
companions  who  spoke  while  Miss  Main  was  out  of  the  room, 
failing  to  do  which  she  was  deprived  of  her  marks  for  the 
day.  Now,  on  this  occasion,  a  pretty  considerable  tumult 
arose,  and  the  little  girl,  looking  frightened,  and  pretty  nearly 
ready  to  cry,  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

"  Yes,  you  mean,  spiteful  little  thing  ! "  cried  a  big,  fat, 
roseate  girl,  called  Georgina  Wolf,  "  put  down  all  our  names, 
do  !     I've  a  good  mind  to  box  your  ears  !  " 

She  menaced  the  little  girl,  but  only  for  a  brief  second. 
With  a  rapid  "  Have  you  really  ? "  another  young  lady — 
the  tallest  in  the  school — appeared  on  the  scene ;  Miss  Wolf 
received  a  ringing  slap  on  the  side  of  her  head,  which  made 
her  jump  back,  shrieking.  The  school  was  awe-struck. 
Never  had  such  a  thing  occurred  before.  But  presently  one 
girl  laughed,  then  another;  then  there  was  a  general  titter 
over  Miss  Wolf's  alarm  and  discomfiture  ;  during  which  the 
tall  young  lady  called  out, 

"  Amy  Warrener,  put  us  all  down,  and  me  at  the  head  ;  for 
we  are  going  to  have  a  little  amusement.  Young  ladies,  shall 
I  deliver  a  lecture  to  you  on  Old  Calabar  and  our  sewing-class  ? 
Young  ladies,  shall  we  have  a  little  music  ? " 


4  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

She  had  suddenly  assumed  the  prim  demeanor  of  Miss 
Main.  With  great  gravity  she  walked  over  to  the  door,  locked 
it,  and  put  the  key  in  her  pocket.  Then  she  went  to  her  own 
desk,  smuggled  something  into  a  light  shawl,  and  proceeded 
to  the  mistress's  table,  behind  which  she  took  her  stand. 

"Young  ladies,"  she  said,  pretending  to  look  at  them 
through  an  imaginary  pair  of  eyeglasses,  "  you  are  aware  that 
it  is  the  shocking  practice  of  the  little  boys  and  girls  in  many 
districts  of  Africa  to  go  about  without  clothes ;  and  you  are 
aware  of  the  Camberwell  Society  for  helping  the  missionaries 
to  take  out  a  few  garments  to  these  poor  little  things.  Now, 
xny  dears,  it  is  a  useful  thing  for  a  seminary  like  mine  to  gain 
a  reputation  for  being  charitable ;  and  if  we  manage  among 
ourselves  to  send  from  month  to  month  parcels  of  beautifully 
sewed  garments,  every  one  must  get  to  know  how  well  I 
teach  you,  my  dears,  to  handle  your  needle.  But  then,  my 
dears,  you  must  not  all  expect  to  join  in  this  good  work.  You 
all  get  the  credit  of  being  charitable  ;  but  some  of  you  are 
not  so  smart  with  your  needle  as  others ;  and  so  I  think  it 
better  to  have  the  sewing  of  these  garments  intrusted  to  one 
or  two  of  you,  who  ought  to  feel  proud  of  the  distinction. 
Do  you  understand  me,  my  dears  ?  Now  some  of  you,  I 
have  no  doubt,  would  like  to  see  what  sort  of  young  people 
wear  the  beautiful  dresses  which  your  pocket-money  and  your 
industry  send  out  to  Africa.  I  have  here  the  little  pink  frock 
which  you.  Miss  Morrison,  finished  yesterday ;  and  if  you 
will  grant  me  a  moment's  patience — " 

She  took  the  pink  frock  from  the  table,  and  for  a  second  or 
two  stooped  down  behind  the  table-cover.  When  she  rose,  it 
appeared  that  she  had  smuggled  a  large  black  doll  into  the 
school ;  and  now  the  black  and  curly  head  of  the  doll 
surmounted  the  pink  cotton  garment  with  its  white  frills. 
There  was  a  yell  of  laughter.  She  stuck  the  doll  on  the  edge 
of  the  table ;  she  put  a  writing-desk  behind  it  to  support  it ; 
she  hit  it  on  the  side  of  the  head  when  it  did  not  sit  straight. 
An  indescribable  tumult  followed  :  all  possible  consequences 
were  cast  aside. 

"  Now,  my  dears,  what  hymn  shall  we  sing  to  entertain  the 
little  stranger  ?     Shall  it  be  '  Away  down  South  in  Dixie  ? '  " 

The  school  had  gone  mad.  With  one  accord  the  girls  be- 
gan to  shout  the  familiar  air  to  any  sort  of  words,  led  by  the 
tall  young  lady  behind  the  table,  who  flourished  a  ruler  in 
place  of  a  baton.  She  did  not  know  the  words  herself ;  she 
simply  led  the  chorus  with  any  sort  of  phrases. 


YOU  DEVIL!  5 

"  Oh  it's  Dixie's  land  that  I  was  born  in, 
Early  on  a  frosty  morning, 

In  the  land !     In  the  land !     In  the  land  ! 
In  the  land  !  " 

"  A  little  more  spirit,  my  clears !  A  little  louder,  if  you 
please !  " 

"  Oh  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie, 

Oho!  oho! 
In  Dixie's  land  to  take  my  stand, 
And  live  and  die  in  Dixie's  land, 

Oho!  oho!  _ 

Away  down  South  in  Dixie  !  " 

"That's  better,  ^ow pianissimo — the  sadness  of  thinking 
about  Dixie — you  understand  ?  " 

They  sung  it  softly ;  and  she  pretended  to  wipe  the  eyes 
of  the  negro  doll  in  the  pink  dress. 

"Now,  fortissimo !^^  she  cried,  flourishing  her  baton. 
"  Going,  going,  for  the  last  time.  Take  the  word  from  me, 
my  dears ! " 

"  Oh  I  wish  I  was  in  Dixie, 

Oho!  oho! 
In  Dixie's  land  to  take  my  stand, 
And  live  and  die  in  Dixie's  land, 

Oho!  oho! 
Away  down  South  in  Dixie  !" 

But  the  singing  of  this  verse  had  been  accompanied  by 
certain  strange  noises. 

"  Open  the  door.  Miss  North,  or  I  will  break  it  open  ! " 
called  the  mistress  from  without,  in  awful  tones. 

"  My  dears,  resume  your  tasks — instantly  ! "  said  Miss 
Violet  North ;  and  with  that  she  snatched  the  doll  out  of  the 
pink  costume,  and  hurriedly  flung  it  into  her  private  desk. 
Then  she  walked  to  the  door  alone. 

The  hubbub  had  instantly  subsided.  All  eyes  were  bent 
upon  the  books  before  them ;  but  all  ears  were  listening  for 
the  dreadful  interview  between  Violet  North  and  the  school- 
mistress. 

The  tall  young  girl,  having  made  quite  sure  that  her  com- 
panions were  quiet  and  orderly,  opened  the  door.  The  mis- 
tress marched  in  in  a  terrible  rage — in  such  a  rage  that  she 
could  hardly  speak. 

"  Miss  North,"  she  cried,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  this 
disgraceful  uproar  ? " 


6  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Uproar,  Miss  Main  ? "  said  she,  with  innocent  wonder. 
"  The  young  ladies  are  very  quiet." 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  your  having  boUed  this  door  ? 
How  dare  you  bolt  the  door  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  thought  there  was  something  the  matter  with  the 
lock,"  she  answered,  scanning  the  door  critically.  "  But  you 
ought  not  to  be  vexed  at  that.  And  now  I  will  bid  you 
good-morning." 

Thus  she  saved  herself  from  being  expelled.  She  coolly 
walked  into  an  adjacent  room,  put  on  her  hat,  took  her  small 
umbrella,  and  went  out.  As  it  was  a  pleasant  morning,  she 
thought  she  would  go  for  a  walk. 


CHAPTER  n. 

CARPE   DIEM. 


This  girl  was  straight  as  a  dart ;  and  she  knew  how  to  suit 
her  costume  to  her  fine  figure,  her  bright  and  clear  complex- 
ion, and  her  magnificent  black  hair.  She  wore  a  tight-fitting, 
tight-sleeved  dress  of  gray  homespun,  and  a  gray  hat  with  a 
scarlet  feather — this  bold  dash  of  red  being  the  only  bit  of 
pronounced  color  about  her.  There  was  no  self-conscious 
trickery  of  ornament  visible  on  her  costume ;  indeed,  there 
was  no  self-consciousness  of  any  sort  about  the  girl.  She 
had  a  thoroughly  pagan  delight  in  the  present  moment.  The 
past  was  nothing  to  her ;  she  had  no  fear  of  the  future ;  life 
was  enjoyable  enough  from  hour  to  hour,  and  she  enjoyed  it 
accordingly.  She  never  paused  to  think  how  handsome  she 
was,  for  she  was  tolerably  indiiferent  as  to  what  other  people 
thought  of  her.  She  w^as  well  satisfied  with  herself,  and  well 
satisfied  with  the  world,  especially  when  there  was  plenty  of 
fun  going  about;  her  fine  health  gave  her  fine  spirits;  her 
bold,  careless,  self-satisfied  nature  took  no  heed  of  criticism 
or  reproof,  and  caused  her  to  laugh  at  the  ordinary  troubles 
of  girl-life ;  not  even  this  great  fact  that  she  had  practically 
run  away  from  school  was  sufficient  to  upset  her  superb  equa- 
nimity. 

Incessit  regina.  There  was  nothi.ng  of  the  gawky  and  sham- 
bling school-girl  in  her  free,  frank  step,  and  her  erect  and 
graceful  carriage.  When  she  met  either  man  or  woman,  she 
looked  him  or  her  straight  in  the  face  ;  then  probably  turned 
her  eyes  away  indifferently  to  regard  the  flight  of  a  rook,  or 


CARPE  DIEM.  7 

the  first  blush  of  rose-color  on  a  red  hawthorn.  For,  on 
leaving  school,  Miss  North  found  herself  in  the  higher  reach- 
es of  Camberwell  Grove,  and  in  this  richly  wooded  district 
the  glad  new  life  of  the  spring  was  visible  in  the  crisp,  un- 
curled leaves  of  the  chestnuts,  and  in  the  soft  green  of  the 
mighty  elms,  and  in  the  white  and  purple  of  the  lilacs  in  the 
gardens  of  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  houses.  Never  had  any 
spring  come  to  us  so  quickly  as  that  one.  All  England  had 
lain  black  and  cold  under  the  grip  of  a  hard  and  tenacious 
winter ;  even  the  end  of  March  found  us  with  bitter  east 
winds;  icy  roads,  and  leafless  trees.  Then  all  of  a  sudden 
came  south  winds  and  warm  rains  ;  and  the  wet,  gray  skies 
parted  at  times  to  give  us  a  brilliant  glimpse  of  blue.  The 
work  of  transformation  was  magical  in  its  swiftness.  Far 
away  in  secret  places  the  subtle  fire  of  the  earth  upsprung  in 
pale  primroses,  in  sweet  violets,  and  in  the  glossy  and  golden 
celandine  that  presaged  the  coming  of  buttercups  into  the 
meadows.  The  almond-trees,  even  in  suburban  gardens, 
shone  out  with  a  sudden  glow  of  pink  and  purple.  The  lilac 
bushes  opened  their  green  leaves  to  the  warm  rains.  The 
chestnuts  unclasped  their  resinous  buds.  And  then,  with  a 
great  wild  splendor  of  blue  sky  and  warm  sunlight,  the  boun- 
tiful, mild,  welcome  spring  came  fully  upon  us ;  and  all  the 
world  was  filled  with  the  laden  blossoms  of  fruit-trees,  and 
the  blowing  of  sweet  winds,  and  the  singing  of  thrushes  and 
blackbirds.  To  be  abroad  on  such  a  morning  was  better 
than  sitting  over  an  Italian  exercise  in  Miss  Main's  school- 
room. 

"  What  sort  of  tree  is  that  1 "  Miss  Violet  North  asked  of 
a  little  boy.  A  particular  tree  in  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
gardens  had  struck  her  fancy. 

"  Dunnow,"  said  the  boy  sulkily. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  know,  you  little  donkey  you  ?  "  she 
said,  indifferently,  passing  on. 

She  crossed  Grove  Lane,  and  went  along  the  summit  of 
Champion  Hill,  under  the  shade  of  a  magnificent  row  of 
chestnuts.  Could  leaves  be  greener,  could  the  sweet  air  be 
sweeter,  could  the  fair  spring  sunshine  be  more  brilliant  in 
the  remotest  of  English  valleys  ?  Here  were  country-looking 
houses,  with  sloping  gardens,  and  little  fancy  farms  attached  ; 
here  were  bits  of  woodland,  the  remains  of  the  primeval  for- 
est, allowed  to  grow  up  into  a  sort  of  wilderness ;  here  were 
rooks  flying  about  their  nests,  and  thrushes  busy  on  the 
warm  green  lawns,  and  blackbirds  whirring  from  one  laurel 
bush  to  another.     She  walked  along  to  the  end  of  this  thor- 


8  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

oughfare  until  she  came  to  a  lane  which  led  abruptly  down 
hill,  facing  the  south.  Far  below  her  lay  the  green  meadows 
of  Uulwich;  and  beyond  the  trees,  and  looking  pale  and 
spectral  in  the  glare  of  the  heat,  rose  the  towers  of  the  Crys- 
tal Palace.  That  was  enough.  She  had  nothing  particular 
to  do.  Walking  was  a  delight  to  her  on  such  a  morning. 
Without  any  specific  resolve,  she  indolently  set  out  for  the 
Crystal  Palace. 

There  was  indolence  in  her  purpose,  but  none  in  her  gait. 
She  walked  smartly  enough  down  the  steep  and  semi-private 
thoroughfare  which  is  called  Green  Lane  ;  she  crossed  the 
pleasant  meadows  by  the  narrow  pathway;  she  got  out  upon 
the  Dulwich  Road,  and  so  continued  her  way  to  the  Palace. 
But  she  was  not  to  reach  the  goal  of  her  journey  without  an 
adventure. 

She  was  just  passing  the  gate-way  leading  up  to  a  large 
house,  when  a  negro  page,  very  tall,  very  black,  and  wearing 
a  bottle-green  livery  with  scarlet  cuffs  and  collar,  came  out 
of  the  garden  into  the  road,  followed  by  a  little  terrier.  The 
appearance  of  this  lanky  black  boy  amused  her ;  and  so,  as  a 
friendly  mark  of  recognition,  she  clrew  her  umbrella  across  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  terrier  just  as  he  was  passing,  and 
said,  "  Pfst !  "  But  this  overture  was  instantly  rejected  by 
the  terrier,  which  turned  upon  her  with  voluble  rage,  yelping, 
barking,  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  and  threatening  to  spring 
upon  her.  For  a  second  she  retreated  in  dismay ;  then,  as 
she  saw  that  the  negro  boy  was  more  frightened  than  her- 
self, she  became  wildly  angry. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  your  dog  away  ? "  she  cried  ;  "  you — 
you  stick  of  black  sealing-wax  ?  " 

In  this  moment  of  dire  distress  help  came  to  her  from  an 
unexpected  quarter.  A  young  gentleman  quickly  crossed  the 
road,  approached  the  irate  terrier  from  the  rear,  and  gave  the 
animal  a  sharp  cut  with  his  walking-stick.  The  rapidity  of  this 
flank  movement  completely  took  the  terrier  by  surprise ;  with 
a  yelp,  more  of  alarm  and  astonishment  than  of  pain,  it  fled 
into  the  garden,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

Violet  North  looked  up ;  and  now  her  face  was  consciously 
red,  for  she  had  been  ignominiously  caught  in  a  fright. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  been  alanned,"  said  the  young 
man  ;  and  he  had  a  pleasant  voice. 

"  Yes,  the  nasty  little  brute  !  "  said  she  ;  and  then,  recol- 
lecting that  that  was  not  the  manner  in  which  a  stranger 
should  be  addressed,  she  said,  "  I  thank  you  very  much  for 
driving  the  dog  away  :  it  was  very  kind  of  you." 


CARPE  DIEM.  9 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing,"  said  he  ;  "  I  am  ver}'  glad  I  happened 
to  be  by."  He  Hfted  his  hat,  said  "  Good-morning  ! "  and 
passed  on  in  front  of  her. 

She  looked  after  him.  Had  she  ever  seen  so  handsome, 
so  beautiful  a  young  man  ?     Never  ! 

Just  at  the  present  moment  several  of  our  English  artists 
are  very  fond  of  painting  a  peculiar  type  of  feminine  beauty 
— a  woman  with  a  low  and  broad  forehead,  large,  indolent, 
sleepy  blue  eyes,  thin  cheeks,  short  upper  lip,  full  under  lip, 
somewhat  square  jaw,  and  magnificent  throat.  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful head  enough — languid,  unintellectual,  semi-sensuous,  but 
beautiful.  Now  this  young  man  was  as  near  as  possible  a 
masculine  version  of  that  indolent,  beautiful,  mystic-eyed 
woman,  whose  face  one  meets  in  dusky  corners  of  drawing 
rooms,  or  in  the  full  glare  of  exhibitions.  He  was  no  roseate 
youth,  flabby-cheeked  and  curly-locked,  such  as  a  school-girl 
might  try  to  paint  in  crude  water-colors.  His  appearance  was 
striking ;  there  was  something  refined,  special,  characteristic 
about  his  features ;  and,  moreover,  he  had  not  cropped  his 
hair  as  our  modern  youths  are  wont  to  do — the  short  wavy 
locks  of  light  brown  nearly  reached  his  shirt-collar.  For  the 
rest  he  was  sparely  built,  perhaps  about  five  feet  eight,  square- 
shouldered,  light  and  active  in  figure.  Was  there  any  harm 
in  a  school  girl  admitting  to  herself  that  he  was  a  very  good- 
looking  young  man  ? 

Walking  about  the  Crystal  Palace  by  one's  self  is  not  the 
most  exciting  of  amusements.  The  place  was  ver^'  familiar 
to  Miss  North  ;  and  she  had  lost  interest  in  the  copper-colored 
aborigines,  and  in  the  wonderful  pillar  of  gold.  But  she  had 
one  little  bit  of  enjoyment.  She  caught  sight  of  a  small  boy 
who,  when  nobody  was  looking,  was  trying  to  "  job  "  one  of 
the  cockatoos  with  the  end  of  a  toy-whip.  Well,  also  when 
nobody  was  looking,  she  took  occasion  to  get  behind  this 
little  boy,  and  then  she  gave  him  a  gentle  push,  which  was 
just  sufficient  to  let  the  cockatoo,  making  a  downward  dip  at 
his  enemy's  head,  pull  out  a  goodly  tuft  of  hair.  There  was 
a  frightful  squeal  of  alarnt  from  the  boy ;  but  in  a  second  she 
was  round  in  some  occult  historical  chamber,  studying  with 
becoming  gravity  the  lesson  taught  us  by  the  tombs  of  kings. 

Then  she  became  very  hungry,  and  she  thought  she  would 
go  and  have  some  luncheon.  When  she  entered  the  dining- 
room  she  was  a  little  shy — not  much ;  but  she  was  speedily 
attended  by  a  friendly  old  waiter,  who  quite  put  her  at  her 
ease.  When  he  asked  her  what  she  would  take,  she  was  on 
the  point  of  answering,  "  Cold  beef,  if  you  please,"  as  she 


xo  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

would  have  done  at  school ;  but  she  suddenly  bethought  her- 
self that,  being  in  a  restaurant,  she  might  have  something 
better,  and  so  she  asked  for  the  bill  of  fare,  scanned  it,  and 
finally  ordered  an  oyster  pate  and  a  couple  of  lamb  cutlets, 
with  green  pease  and  tomatoes. 

"  And  what  will  you  take  to  drink,  miss  ? "  said  the  old 
waiter. 

"  Some  water,  thank  you,"  she  said  ;  but  directly  afterward 
she  added,  "  Wait  a  moment ;  I  think  I  will  take  a  glass  of 
sherry,  if  you  please." 

So  the  waiter  departed ;  and  she  turned  to  glance  at  her 
surroundings.  The  first  thing  she  noticed,  much  to  her  sur- 
prise and  mortification,  was  that  she  had  inadvertently  sat  down 
at  the  table  at  which,  on  the  opposite  side  and  farther  along, 
the  young  man  was  having  lunch  to  whom  she  had  spoken  in 
the  morning.  She  was  annoyed.  What  must  he  think  of  a 
young  lady  who  went  wandering  about  the  country  by  herself, 
and  coolly  walked  into  restaurants  to  order  cutlets  and 
sherry?  It  was  rather  a  strange  circumstance  that  Miss 
North  should  be  troubled  by  this  conjecture ;  for  she  rarely, 
if  ever,  paid  the  least  attention  to  what  people  might  think  of 
her;  but  on  this  occasion  she  began  to  wish  she  might  have 
some  opportunity  of  explaining  her  conduct. 

The  opportunity  occurred.  That  friendly  old  waiter  had  ap- 
parently forgotten  the  order ;  anyhow,  the  girl  sat  there  patient- 
ly, and  nothing  was  brought  to  her.  She  wished  to  attract 
the  attention  of  the  waiter,  and  made  one  or  two  attempts,  but 
failed.  Seeing  the  plight  she  was  in,  the  young  gentleman 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table  made  bold  to  address  her,  and 
said, 

'■'  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  fear  they  are  not  attending  to 
you.     Will  you  allow  me  speak  to  one  of  the  waiters  1 " 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  she  said,  blushing  a  little  bit. 

The  young  man  walked  off  and  got  hold  of  the  manager, 
to  whom  he  made  his  complaint.  Then  he  came  back  ;  and 
Miss  North  was  more  anxious  then  ever  to  justify  herself  in 
his  eyes.  The  notion  was  becoming  quite  desperate  that  he 
might  go  away  thinking  she  knew  so  little  of  propriety  as  to 
be  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  restaurants  all  by  herself. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you — again,"  she  said,  with 
something  of  an  embarrassed  smile.  "  I  believed  they  meant 
to  punish  me  for  going  away  from  school." 

"  From  school  ?  "  said  he,  doubtfully ;  and  he  drew  his  chair 
a  little  nearer. 
.    "  Yes,"  said  she,  resolved  at  any  cost  to  put  herself  right 


CARPE  DIEM.  u 

in  his  opinion.  "  I  ought  to  have  been  at  school.  I — I 
walked  away — and  one  gets  hungry,  you  know.  I — I  thought 
it  was  better  to  come  in  here." 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,"  said  he  ;  "why  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  been  left  a  good  deal  to  myself,"  said  this 
anxious  young  lady,  leading  up  to  her  grafid  coup.  "  My 
father  is  always  away  looking  after  railways,  and  I  dislike  my 
step-mother,  so  that  I  am  never  at  home.  Of  course,  you 
have  heard  of  my  father's  name — Sir  Acton  North  ?  " 

Now  she  was  satisfied.  He  would  know  she  was  not  some 
giddy  maid-servant  out  for  a  holiday.  She  uttered  the  words 
clearly,  so  that  there  should  be  no  mistake,  and  perhaps  a 
trifle  proudly  ;  then  she  waited  for  him  to  withdraw  his  chair 
again,  and  resume  his  luncheon.  But  he  did  nothing  of  the 
sort. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  he,  with  a  respectful  earnestness,  "  every 
one  has  heard  of  Sir  Acton  North.  I  am  very  pleased  that 
— that  I  have  been  of  any  little  service  to  you.  I  dare  say, 
now,  you  have  heard  of  my  father,  too — George  Miller  1 " 

"No,  I  have  not,"  she  said,  seriously,  as  though  her  ignor- 
ance of  that  distinguished  name  were  a  grave  blot  on  her 
bringing  up. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  said  the  handsome  young  man,  meekly, 
"he  is  pretty  well  known  as  a  merchant,  but  better  known  as 
a  Protestant.  He  takes  the  chairs  at  meetings,  and  gives  big 
subscriptions,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  I  believe  the  Pope 
can't  sleep  in  his  bed  o'  nights  on  account  of  him." 

"I — I  think  I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Miss  North,  con- 
scious that  she  ought  to  know  something  of  so  important  a 
person. 

At  this  point  she  was  distinctly  of  opinion  that  the  conver- 
sation should  cease.  Young  ladies  are  not  supposed  to  talk 
to  young  gentlemen  to  whom  they  have  not  been  introduced, 
even  although  they  may  have  heard  of  each  other's  parents 
as  being  distinguished  people.  But  George  Miller  the  younger 
seemed  a  pleasant  young  man,  who  had  a  frank  smile,  and  an 
obvious  lack  of  stiffness  and  circumspection  in  his  nature. 
They  had  brought  her  the  oyster  pate ;  now  came  the  cutlets. 

"  That  was  the  mistake  you  made,"  said  he,  venturing  to 
smile.  "  When  you  are  in  a  hurry  you  should  not  order  out- 
of-the-way  things,  or  they  are  sure  to  keep  you  waiting." 

"  I  never  came  into  a  restaurant  by  myself  before,"  she 
said,  with  some  asperity.  Would  this  foolish  young  man  per- 
sist in  the  notion  that  she  habitually  ordered  luncheon  in  such 
a  fashion  ? 


12  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  What  school  was  it  you  left,  may  I  ask  ?  "  said  he,  with  a 
friendly  interest  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  answered,  with  a  return  to  her  ordinary  careless 
manner,  "  Miss  Main's  Seminary,  in  Camberwell  Grove.  I 
knew  she  was  going  to  expel  me.  We  had  had  a  little  amuse- 
ment when  she  was  out  of  the  room — a  little  too  much  noise, 
in  fact  and  though  she  has  often  threatened  to  expel  me,  I 
saw  by  her  face  she  meant  mischief  this  time.  So  I  left. 
What  a  pleasant  morning  it  was  for  a  walk  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  looking  rather  puzzled  ;  "  but — but — what 
are  you  going  to  do  now  ? " 

"  Now  ?  Oh,  I  don't  know !  There  will  be  plenty  of  time 
for  me  to  settle  where  I  am  going  when  I  get  back  to  town.'' 

"  Are  you  going  back  to  London  all  by  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  came  here  by  myself  :  why  not  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  wdth  some  real  anxiety,  "  it  is  rather  an 
unusual  thing  for  a  young  lady  to  be  going  about  like  that.  I 
think  you  ought  to — to  go  home — " 

"  My  father  is  in  Yorkshire  ;  I  would  rather  not  go  to  see 
my  step-mother.  We  should  have  rather  a  warm  evening  of 
it,  I  imagine,"  she  added,  frankly. 

"Where,  then  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  know  where  to  go  !  "  she  said,  indifferently.  *'  There 
is  a  little  girl  at  the  school  I  am  ver)--  fond  of,  and  she  is  very 
fond  of  me  ;  and  she  and  her  mother  live  with  her  uncle  in 
Camberwell  Grove,  not  far  from  the  school.  They  will  take 
me  in,  I  know  ;  they  are  very  kind  people." 

By  this  time  she  had  finished  her  luncheon — the  young  man 
had  neglected  his  altogether — and  she  asked  the  waiter  for 
her  bill.  She  certainly  had  plenty  of  money  in  her  purse. 
She  gave  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  systematically  not  at- 
tended to  her,  a  shilling  for  himself. 

"Would  you  allow  me  to  see  you  into  a  carriage,"  timidly 
suggested  Mr.  George  Miller,  "  if  you  are  going  up  by  rail  ? " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  she  said,  with  a  sweet  smile  ;  "  I  can  take  care 
of  myself." 

Which  was  true. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  Miss  North,  I  am  afraid  I  can  not  claim 
you  as  an  acquaintance — because — because  our  meeting  has 
been  rather — rather  informal,  as  it  were  ;  but  would  you  allow 
me,  supposing  1  were  introduced  to  you — " 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  you  to  know  my  father  well  enough," 
said  she  honestly. 

"  That  was  not  what  I  meant  exactly,"  said  he.  "  I  meant 
that  if  I  got  to  know  your  father,  that  would  be  a  sort  of 


A  SUBURBAN  PHILOSOPHER.  13 

equivalent — don't  you  think  ? — to  a  formal  introduction  to 
you." 

The  girl  very  nearly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  think  we  are  pretty  well  introduced  already,"  said  she, 
"  by  means  of  a  terrier-dog  and  a  stupid  waiter.  Thank  you 
very  much  for  your  kindness.     Good-afternoon." 

She  was  going  away  with  her  ordinary  erect  carriage  and 
careless  bearing,  when  he  suddenly  put  out  his  hand  to  shake 
hands  with  her.  She  had  risen  by  this  time.  Well,  she  could 
not  be  guilty  of  the  discourtesy  of  a  refusal ;  and  so  she  al- 
lowed him  to  shake  hands  with  her. 

"  I  hope  this  is  not  the  last  time  we  shall  meet,"  said  he, 
with  an  earnestness  which  rather  surprised  her,  and  which 
she  did  not  fail  to  remember  when  she  got  into  a  quiet  corner 
of  a  railway  carriage.  Did  he  really  wish  to  see  her  again  } 
Was  there  a  chance  of  their  meeting  1  What  would  properly 
conducted  people  say  of  her  adventures  of  that  morning .? 

She  did  not  care  much.  She  got  out  at  Denmark  Hill 
Station,  and  placidly  walked  up  to  the  house  of  Mr.  James 
Drummond,  which  was  situated  near  the  top  of  Camberwell 
Grove. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

A  SUBURBAN    PHILOSOPHER. 

This  house  was  rather  like  a  toy-cottage — a  long,  low,  ramb- 
ling-place, with  a  veranda  all  round,  ivy  trained  up  the  pil- 
lars, French  windows,  small  peaked  gables,  some  few  trees 
and  bushes  in  front,  and  a  good  garden  behind.  Miss  North 
did  not  wait  for  an  answer  to  her  summons.  She  bethought 
herself  that  she  would  be  sure  to  find  Mr.  Drummond,  or  his 
widowed  sister,  Mrs.  Warrener,  or  his  niece.  Amy  Warrener, 
in  the  garden  ;  and  so  she  made  her  way  round  the  house  by 
a  side  path.  Here,  indeed,  she  found  Mr.  Drummond.  He 
was  seated  in  the  veranda,  in  a  big  reading-chair ;  one  leg 
was  crossed  over  the  other  ;  he  was  smoking  a  long  clay  pipe  ; 
but  instead  of  improving  his  mind  by  reading,  he  was  simply 
idling  and  dreaming — looking  out  on  the  bushes  and  the  blos- 
som-laden trees,  over  which  a  dusky  red  sky  was  now  begin- 
ning to  burn. 

He  jumped  up  from  his  seat  when  he  saw  her,  and  rather 
unwisely  began  to  laugh.     He  was  a  tall,  thin,  somewhat  un- 


14  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

gainly  man,  with  curiously  irregular  features,  the  expression 
of  which  seldom  remained  the  same  for  a  couple  of  seconds 
together.  Yet  there  was  something  attractive  about  this 
strange  face— about  its  keen,  vivacious  intelligence  and  its 
mobile  tendency  tjo  laugh  ;  and  there  was  no  doubt  about  the 
fine  character  of  the  eyes — full,  clear,  quick  to  apprehend,  and 
yet  soft  and  winning.  Violet  North  had  a  great  liking  and 
regard  for  this  friend  of  hers  ;  but  sometimes  she  stood  a  lit- 
tle in  awe  of  him.  She  could  not  altogether  follow  his  quick, 
playful  humor;  she  was  always  suspecting  sarcasm  behind 
his  drolleries  ;  it  was  clear  to  her  that,  whatever  was  being 
talked  about,  he  saw  far  more  than  she  or  any  body  else  saw, 
for  he  would  suddenly  burst  into  a  prodigious  roar  of  merri- 
ment over  some  point  or  other  wholly  invisible  to  her  or  to 
his  sister.  The  man,  indeed,  had  all  the  childish  fun  of  a 
man  of  genius  ;  and  a  man  of  genius  he  undoubtedly  was, 
though  he  had  never  done  any  thing  to  show  to  the  world, 
nor  was  likely  to  do  any  thing.  Early  in  life  he  had  been 
cursed  by  a  fatal  inheritance  of  somewhere  about  600/.  a  year. 
He  was  incurably  indolent — that  is  to  say,  his  brain  was  on 
the  hop,  skip,  and  jump  from  morning  till  night,  performing 
all  manner  of  intellectual  feats  for  his  own  private  amuse- 
ment ;  but  as  for  any  settled  work,  or  settled  habits,  he  would 
have  nothing  of  either.  He  was  a  very  unworldly  person — 
careless  of  the  ordinary  aims  of  the  life  around  him  ;  but  he 
had  elaborated  a  vast  amount  of  theories  to  justify  his  indo- 
lence. He  belonged  to  a  good  family  ;  he  never  called  on 
his  rich  or  distinguished  relatives.  At  college  he  was  cele- 
brated as  a  brilliant  and  ready  debater,  and  as  a  capricious, 
whimsical,  but  altogether  delightful  conversationalist ;  he  was 
fairly  studious,  and  obviously  clear-headed  ;  yet  no  one  ever 
left  a  university  with  less  of  glory  surrounding  him.  He  had 
a  large  number  of  friends,  and  they  all  loved  him  ;  but  they 
knew  his  faults.  He  had  no  more  notion  of  time  than  a  bird 
or  a  butterfly ;  he  was  scarcely  ever  known  to  catch  the  train 
for  which  he  set  out :  but,  then,  with  ill-temper  on  the  part  of 
a  companion  could  withstand  the  perfectly  happy  fashion  in 
which  he  would  proceed  to  show  that  a  railway-station  was  an 
excellent  place  for  reflection  ?  Then,  he  had  a  bewildering 
love  of  paradox — especially  puzzling  to  a  certain  ingenuous 
young  lady  who  sometimes  sat  and  mutely  listened  to  his 
monologues.  Then,  he  was  very  unfair  in  argument ;  he 
would  patiently  lead  his  opponent  on  in  the  hope  that  at  last 
this  unprincipled  debater  was  about  to  be  driven  into  a  corner 
— when,  lo  !  there  was  some  sort  of  twitch  about  the  odd  face, 


A  SUBURBAN  PHILOSOPHER.  15 

a  glimmer  of  humor  in  the  fine  eyes,  and  with  some  prepos- 
terous joke  he  was  off,  like  a  squirrel  up  a  tree,  leaving  his 
antagonist  discomfited  below. 

He  led  his  sister  a  hard  life  of  it.  The  pale,  little,  fair- 
haired  woman  had  a  great  faith  in  her  brother  ;  she  believed 
him  to  be  the  best  and  the  cleverest  man  that  ever  lived  ;  and 
no  one  with  less  good-nature  than  herself  could  have  listened 
patiently  to  the  whimsical  extravagances  of  this  incorrigible 
talker.  For  the  worst  about  him  was  that  he  made  remarks 
at  random — suggested  by  the  book  he  was  reading,  or  by 
some  passing  circumstance — and  then,  when  his  puzzled  in- 
terlocutor was  trying  to  comprehend  him,  he  was  off  to  some- 
thing else,  quite  unconscious  that  he  had  left  the  other  a  con- 
tinent or  a  century  behind  him.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  made 
a  wild  effort  to  show  that  this  or  that  abrupt  observation  was 
apropos  to  something — which  it  never  was. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  would  say  to  his  patient  sister,  "  I 
fancy  I  see  something  in  Fawcett  of  a  sort  of  political  Shel- 
ley." 

A  moment's  silence. 

"Yes,  James,"  his  sister  would  say,  seriously,  "but  in  what 
way  .'•  " 

Another  moment's  silence. 

"  Oh,  about  Fawcett  ?  Well,  I  was  thinking,  do  you  know, 
that  if  the  House  of  Commons  were  to  introduce  a  bill  secur- 
ing universal  suffrage,  the  little  terrier  here  would  die  of  de- 
spair and  disgust.  That  is  the  one  weak  point  about  dogs — 
you  can't  convey  to  them  any  impression  of  moral  grandeur. 
It  is  all  fine  clothes  with  them,  and  gentlemanly  appearance ; 
the  virtues  hidden  beneath  a  shabby  costume  are  unknown  to 
them.  Frosty,  here,  would  wag  her  tail  and  welcome  the  big- 
gest swindler  that  ever  brought  out  sham  companies ;  but  she 
would  be  suspicious  of  the  honest  workman,  and  she  would 
snap  at  the  calves  of  the  most  deserving  of  beggars.  Sarah, 
you  really  must  cease  that  habit  of  yours  of  indiscriminate 
almsgiving — fancy  the  impostors  3^ou  must  be  encouraging — " 

His  sister  opened  her  eyes  in  mild  protest.  "  Why,  it  was 
only  yesterday  you  gave  that  old  Frenchman  half  a  crown — ' 

"Well,"  said  he,  uncomfortably,  "well — you  see — I  thought 
that — that  even  if  he  was  shamming,  he  looked  such  an  un- 
fortunate poor  devil — but  that  is  only  a  single  case.  There 
is  a  systematic  outrage  on  your  part,  Sarah,  on  the  common 
principles  of  prudence — " 

"  You  do  it  far  more  than  I  do,"  she  said,  with  a  quiet 


16  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

laugh ;  and  so  she  went  her  way,  only  she  had  got  no  infor- 
mation as  to  how  Mr.  Fawcett  resembled  a  political  Shelley. 

Only  one  word  needs  to  be  added  at  present  to  this  hasty 
and  imperfect  description  of  a  bright  and  sparkling  human 
individuality,  the  thousand  facets  of  which  could  never  be 
seen  at  once  and  from  the  same  stand-point.  There  was  no 
jealously  in  the  man's  nature  of  men  who  were  more  success- 
ful in  the  world  than  himself.  He  had  a  sort  of  profession 
— that  is  to  say,  he  occasionally  wrote  articles  for  this  or  that 
learned  review.  But  he  was  far  too  capricious  and  uncer- 
tain to  be  intrusted  with  any  sustained  and  continuous  work, 
and,  indeed,  even,  with  incidental  work,  he  frequently  vexed 
the  soul  of  the  most  indulgent  of  editors.  No  one  could 
guess  what  view  of  a  particular  book  or  question  he  might 
take  at  a  moment's  notice.  Of  course,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
that  fatal  600/.  a  year,  he  might  have  been  put  in  harness, 
and  accomplished  some  substantial  work.  Even  if  he  had 
had  any  extravagant  taste,  something  in  that  way  might  have 
been  done  ;  but  the  little  household  lived  very  economically 
(except  as  regards  charity  and  the  continual  giving  of  pres- 
ents to  friends),  its  chief  and  important  expense  being  the 
cost  of  a  large,  happy  holiday  in  the  autumn.  There  was  no 
jealousy,  as  I  have  said,  in  Drummond's  nature  over  the  suc- 
cess of  more  practical  men ;  no  grudging,  no  detraction,  no 
spite.  The  fire  of  his  life  burned  too  keenly  and  joyously  to 
have  any  smoke  about  it. 

"  Mind  you,"  he  would  say — always  to  his  consentient 
audience  of  one — "  it  is  a  serious  thing  for  a  man  to  endeavor 
to  become  famous.  He  can  not  tell  until  he  tries — and  tries 
for  years — whether  there  is  any  thing  in  him ;  and,  then, 
look  at  the  awful  risk  of  failure  and  life-long  disappointment. 
You  see,  when  once  you  enter  the  race  for  fame  or  for  great 
great  riches,  you  can't  very  well  give  in.  You're  bound  in 
honor  not  to  give  in.  The  presence  of  rivals  all  round  you — 
and,  what  is  stronger  still,  the  envious  caviling  of  the  disap- 
pointed people,  and  the  lecturing  you  get  from  the  feebler 
Jabberwocks  of  criticism — all  that  kind  of  thing  must,  I  should 
fancy,  drive  a  man  on  in  spite  of  himself.  But  don't  you 
think  it  is  wiser  for  people  who  are  not  thrust  into  the  race 
by  some  unusual  conciousness  of  power  to  avoid  it  altogether, 
and  live  a  quieter  and  more  peaceable  life  ?  " 

Sarah  did  think  so ;  she  was  always  sure  that  her  brother 
was  right,  even  when  he  flatly  contradicted  himself,  and  he 
generally  did  that  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  day. 

"  Well,  Miss  Violet,"  he  said  to  the  young  lady  who  had 


A  SUBURBAN  PHILOSOPHER.  17 

suddenly  presented  herself  before  him,  "  I  hear  you  have 
rather  distinguished  yourself  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  an  embarrassed  laugh,  "  I  believe  I 
have  done  it  this  time." 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  And  don't  care,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Not  much." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  But  at  this  moment  his  sister 
came  through  the  small  drawing-room  into  the  veranda ;  and 
there  was  far  more  concern  visible  on  her  face.  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  seemed  to  have  but  a  speculative  interest  in  this  cu- 
rious human  phenomenon,  but  his  sister  had  a  vivid  affection 
for  the  girl  who  had  befriended  her  daughter  at  school,  and 
become  her  sworn  ally  and  champion.  Both  of  them,  it  is 
true,  were  cbnsiderably  attracted  toward  Miss  North.  To 
him  there  was  something  singularly  fascinating  in  her  fine, 
unconscious  enjoyment  of  the  mere  fact  of  living,  in  her  au- 
dacious frankness,  and  even  in  the  shrewd,  clear  notions 
about  things  that  had  got  into  her  school-girl  brain.  In  many 
respects  this  girl  was  more  a  woman  of  the  world  than  her 
gentle  friend  and  timed  adviser,  Mrs.  Warrener.  As  for 
Mrs.  Warrener,  she  had  almost  grown  to  love  this  bold,  frank, 
sincere,  plain-spoken  campanion  of  her  daughter;  but  she 
derived  no  amusement,  as  her  brother  did,  from  the  girl's 
wild  ways  and  love  of  fun,  which  occasionally  made  her 
rather  anxious.  To  her  it  was  not  always  a  laughing  mat- 
ter. 

"  Oh,  Violet,"  she  said,  "  what  have  you  been  about  this 
time }     What  can  we  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  very  much,  I  am  afraid,"  was  the  rueful  an- 
swer. 

Apparently,  Miss  Violet  was  rather  ashamed  of  her  ex- 
ploit ;  and  yet  there  was  a  curious,  half-concealed,  comic  ex- 
pression about  the  face  of  the  penitent  which  did  not  betoken 
any  great  self-abasement. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  home  ?  "  said  James  Drummond,  "  and 
get  your  parents  to  come  over  and  intercede  for  you  t  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  that  would  be  no  use.  My  father  is  in 
Yorkshire." 

"  But  Lady  North— ?" 

"  I  should  like  to  see  my  step-mother  go  out  of  her  way  the 
length  of  a  yard  on  my  account !  She  never  did  like  me  ; 
but  she  has  hated  me  worse  than  ever  since  Euston  Square.'* 

"  Euston  Square — ?  " 


I8  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  girl,  "don't  you  know  that  I  am  a 
sort  of  equivalent  for  Euston  Square  ?  " 

"  This  is  becoming  serious,"  said  Mr.  Drummond.  "  If 
you  are  about  to  amuse  us  with  conundrums,  we  had  better 
all  sit  down.  Here  is  a  chair  for  you.  Sarah,  sit  down. 
And  so  you  were  saying  that  you  were  an  equivalent,  Miss 
Violet.?" 

"  Yes,"  she  observed,  coolly  folding  her  hands  on  her 
knees.  "  It  is  not  a  very  long  story.  You  know  my  step- 
mother was  never  a  very  fashionable  person.  Her  father — 
well,  her  father  built  rows  of  cheap  villas  in  the  suburbs,  on 
speculation  ;  and  he  lived  in  Highbury ;  and  he  told  you  the 
price  of  the  wines  at  dinner — you  know  the  kind  of  man. 
But  when  she  married  my  father" — there  was  always  a  touch 
of  pride  in  the  way  Miss  North  said  "  my  father  " — "  she  had 
a  great  notion  of  getting  from  Highbury  to  Park  Lane,  or 
Palace  Gardens,  or  Lancaster  Gate,  or  some  such  place,  and 
having  a  big  house,  and  trying  to  get  into  society.  Well,  you 
see,  that  would  not  suit  my  father  at  all.  He  almost  lives  on 
railways  ;  he  is  not  once  a  week  in  London  ;  and  he  knows 
Euston  Square  a  good  deal  better  than  Belgravia.  So  he 
proposed  to  my  step-mother  that  if  she  would  consent  to 
have  a  house  in  Euston  Square,  for  his  convenience,  he 
would  study  her  convenience,  and  comfort,  by  allowing  me 
to  remain  permanently  at  a  boarding-school.  Do  you  see  ? 
I  can  tell  you  I  rejoiced  when  I  heard  of  that  bargain  ;  for 
the  house  that  my  step-mother  and  I  were  in  was  a  good  deal 
too  small  for  both  of  us.  Yet  I  don't  think  she  had  always 
the  best  of  it." 

This  admission  was  made  so  modestly,  simply,  and  uncon- 
sciously, that  Mr.  Drummond  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter, 
while  his  sister  looked  a  trifle  shocked. 

"  What  did  you  do  to  her  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh,  women  can  always  find  ways  of  annoying  each  other, 
when  they  wish  it,"  she  answered,  coolly. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "  we  must  see  what  can  be 
done.  Let  us  have  a  turn  in  the  garden,  and  talk  over  this 
pretty  situation  of  affairs." 

They  descended  the  few  steps.  Mrs.  Warrener  linked  the 
girl's  arm  in  hers,  and  took  her  quietly  along  the  narrow  gar- 
den path,  James  Drummond  walking  beside  them  on  the 
lawn.  There  was  a  strange  contrast  between  the  two  women 
— the  one  tall,  straight  and  lithe  as  a  willow-wand,  proud- 
lipped,  frank,  happy,  and  courageous  of  face,  with  all  the 
light  of  youth  and  strength  shining  in  her  eyes ;  the  other 


A  SUBURBAN  PHILOSOPHER, 


19 


tender,  small,  and  wistful,  with  sometimes  an  anxious  and 
apprehensive  contraction  of  the  brows.  By  the  side  of  these 
two  the  philosopher  walked — -a  long  and  lanky  person,  stooping 
somewhat,  talking  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  to  tease  his  com- 
panions, ready  to  explode  at  a  moment's  notice  into  a  great 
burst  of  hearty  and  genuine  laughter,  and  ready  at  the  same 
time  to  tender  any  sacrifice,  however  great,  that  this  girl 
could  claim  of  him,  or  his  sister  suggest.  For  the  rest,  it 
was  a  beautiful  evening  in  this  still  and  secluded  suburban 
garden.  The  last  flush  of  rose-red  was  dying  out  of  the  sky 
over  the  great  masses  of  blossom  on  the  fruit-trees.  There 
was  a  cooler  feeling  in  the  air ;  and  the  sweet  odor  of  the 
lilac  bushes  seemed  to  become  still  more  prevailing  and 
sweet. 

"  Don't  look  on  me  as  an  incumbrance,"  said  Miss  North, 
frankly.  "  I  only  came  to  you  for  a  bit  of  advice.  I  shall 
pull  through  somehow." 

"  We  shall  never  look  upon  you  as  an  incumbrance,  dear," 
said  Mrs.Warrener,  in  her  kindly  way.  "  You  know  you  can 
always  come  and  stay  with  us,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  the  worst  coming  to  the  best," 
said  the  girl,  demurely. 

"  My  notion,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  trying  to  catch  at  a 
butterfly  that  was  obviously  getting  home  in  a  hurry — "  is 
.that  you  ought  to  give  Miss  Main  a  night  to  cool  down  her 
wrath  ;  and  then  in  the  morning  I  will  go  round  and  in- 
tercede for  you.  I  suppose  you  are  prepared  to  apologize  to 
her." 

"  Oh  yes,"  Miss  North  said,  but  not  with  an  air  of  a  con- 
scious sinner. 

"  Miss  Main,  I  fancy  now,"  continued  the  philosopher,  "  is 
the  sort  of  woman  who  would  be  easily  pacified.  So  far  as 
I  have  seen  her,  there  is  little  pretense  about  her,  and  no 
vanity.  It  is  only  very  vain  people,  you  will  find,  who  are 
easily  mortified  and  inplacable  in  their  resentment.  The 
vain  man  is  continually  turning  his  eyes  inward  and  address- 
ing himself  thus  :  *  Sir,  I  most  humbly  beg  your  pardon  for 
having  brought  discomfiture  and  ridicule  on  so  august  and 
important  a  personage  as  yourself.'  He  is  always  worship- 
ing that  little  idol  within  him  ;  and  if  any  body  throws  a 
pellet  of  mud  at  it,  he  will  never  forgive  the  insult.  A  vain 
man — " 

"  But  about  Miss  Main,  James  ? "  said  his  sister.  She 
had  never  any  scruple  about  interrupting  him,  if  any  business 


20  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

was  on  hand ;  for  she  knew  that,  failing  the  interruption,  he 
would  go  wandering  all  over  the  world. 

"  Oh  yes — Miss  Main.  Well,  Miss  Main,  I  say,  does  not 
appear  to  be  a  morbidly  vain  person,  likely  to  be  implacable. 
I  think  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  stay  with  us  to  night, 
and  to-morrow  morning  I  will  go  round  to  Miss  Main,  and 
try  to  pacify  her — " 

"  I  hope  you  won't  laugh  at  her,  James,'*  his  sister  sug- 
gested. 

"  My  dear  woman,  I  am  the  most  diplomatic  person  in  the 
world — as,  for  example  :  we  are  going  in  presently  to  dinner. 
Dinner  without  a  fire  in  the  grate  is  an  abomination.  Now, 
if  I  were  to  suggest  to  you  to  have  a  log  of  wood  put  on — a 
regular  blazer,  for  the  night  is  becoming  chill — something  to 
cheer  us  and  attract  the  eyes,  just  as  you  always  see  the  eyes 
of  infants  attracted  by  flames.  And  where  is  Amy  1  "  he  ad- 
ded, suddenly. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Miss  North,  with  humility,  "  that 
Amy  is  being  kept  out  of  the  way,  so  that  she  sha'n't  meet  a 
wicked  person  like  me." 

"  Indeed,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  though  sometimes  she 
certainly  did  not  consider  Miss  Violet's  conduct  a  good  ex- 
ample for  her  daughter.  "  Amy  is  at  her  lessons  ;  she  is 
coming  in  to  dinner  to-night." 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  go  and  help  her  !  "  said  the  visitor.  *'And 
I  promise  to  tell  her  how  bad  I  have  been,  and  how  I  am 
never  going  to  do  so  any  more." 

So,  for  the  time,  the  little  party  was  broken  up ;  but  it  met 
again  in  a  short  time,  in  a  quaint  little  room  that  was  cheer- 
fully lighted,  round  a  bright  table,  and  in  view  of  a  big  log 
that  was  blazing  in  the  fire-place.  The  banquet  was  not  a 
gorgeous  one — the  little  household  had  the  simplest  tastes — 
but  it  was  flavored  throughout  by  a  friendly  kindness,  a  good 
humor,  a  sly  merriment  that  was  altogether  delightful.  Then, 
after  the  frugal  meal  was  over,  they  drew  their  chairs  into  a 
semicircle  before  the  fire — Mr.  Drummond  being  enthroned 
in  his  especial  reading-chair,  and  having  his  pipe  brought 
him  by  his  niece.  Violet  North  was  pretty  familiar  with 
those  quiet,  bright,  talkative  evenings  in  this -little  home; 
and  though  at  times  she  was  a  little  perplexed  by  the  para- 
doxes of  the  chief  controversialist,  she  was  not  so  much  of  a 
school-girl  as  not  to  perceive  the  fine,  clear,  intellectual  fire 
that  played  about  his  idle  talk  like  summer  lightning,  while 
all  unconsciously  to  herself  she  was  drinking  in  something  of 
the  charm  of  the  great  unworldliness  of  this  little  household 


A  SUBURBAN  PHILOSOPHER.  2i 

which  promised  to  be  of  especial  benefit  to  a  girl  of  her  na- 
ture. She  did  not  always  understand  him ;  but  she  was  al- 
ways delighted  with  him.  If  the  quaint  humor  of  some  sug- 
gestion was  rather  too  recondite  for  her,  she  could  at  least 
recognize  the  reflection  of  it  in  his  face,  and  its  curious  irreg- 
ular lines.  Sir  Acton  North  was  not  aware  that  his  daughter 
was  attending  two  schools,  and  this  one  the  more  important 
of  the  two.  Here  she  saw  nothing  but  gentleness  and  ten- 
der helpfulness  ;  here  she  heard  nothing  but  generous  criti- 
cism, and  humorous  excuses  for  human  faults,  and  laughter 
with  no  sting  in  it ;  here  she  was  taught  nothing  but  toleration, 
and  the  sinking  of  self,  and  the  beauty  of  all  good  and 
true  things.  Then,  she  did  not  know  she  was  being  taught 
any  more  than  her  teachers  knew  they  were  teaching  her ; 
for  one  of  them  spoke  to  her  only  by  way  of  her  own  example, 
which  was  that  of  all  sweetness  and  charity,  and  the  other 
was  so  little  of  a  lecturer  that  he  shocked  his  own  pupil  by 
his  whimsical  extravagances  and  incorrigible  laughter.  If, 
as  Miss  Main  was  convinced,  this  girl  had  no  soul,  she  could 
not  have  come  to  a  better  place  to  get  some  sort  of  substi- 
tute. 

Next  morning  James  Drummond  went  round  and  saw 
Miss  Main.  That  patient,  hard-working,  and  hardly  tried 
little  woman  confessed  frankly  that  she  herself  would  be 
quite  willing  to  have  Miss  North  come  back,  but  she  feared 
the  effect  on  her  other  pupils  of  condoning  so  great  an  of- 
fense. However,  Mr  Drummond  talked  her  over ;  and  an 
arrangement  having  been  come  to  about  the  public  apology 
Miss  North  was  to  make,  he  went  back  home. 

Miss  North  had  just  come  in  breathless.  She  had  run 
half  a  mile  down  hill,  to  the  shops  of  Camberwell,  and  half  a 
mile  back,  since  he  had  gone  out :  she  would  not  tell  him 
why. 

Well,  she  went  round  to  the  seminary  in  due  course  ;  and 
in  the  midst  of  an  awful  silence  she  walked  up  the  middle  of 
the  floor  to  Miss  Main's  table. 

"  Miss  Main,  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon  for  my  conduct  of 
yesterday,  and  I  wish  to  be  allowed  to  apologize  to  the  whole 
school." 

"  You  may  go  to  your  seat.  Miss  North,"  said  the  school- 
mistress, who  was  a  nervous  little  woman,  and  glad  to  get  it 
over 

Miss  North,  with  great  calmness  of  feature,  but  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  a  latent  laugh  in  her  fine  dark  eyes,  walked  se- 
dately and  properly  to  her  seat,  and  opened  her  desk.     With 


22  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

the  lid  well  up,  she  deposited  inside  a  curions  little  collection 
of  oddities  she  had  taken  from  her  pocket — including  a  num- 
ber of  little  paper  pellets,  a  small  tin  goblet,  and  a  wooden 
monkey  at  the  end  of  a  stick. 

The  pellets  were  crackers  which  she  could  jerk  with  her 
finger  and  thumb  to  any  jDart  of  the  room,  and  which  exploded 
on  falling. 

The  toy  goblet  had  a  bit  of  string  attached,  and  was  inten- 
ded for  the  cat's  tail. 

The  wooden  monkey  was  an  effigy,  to  be  suddenly  present- 
ed to  the  school  whenever  Miss  Main's  back  was  turned. 

These  had  been  the  object  of  Miss  Violet's  sudden  race 
down  to  Camberwell  and  back ;  so  it  was  sufficiently  clear 
that  that  young  lady's  remorse  over  her  evil  deeds  was  not  of 
a  very  serious  or  probably  lasting  character. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FLUTTERINGS    NEAR   THE    FLAME. 

A  SECRET  rumor  ran  through  the  school  that  Violet  North 
had  not  only  got  a  sweetheart,  but  was  also  engaged  in  the 
composition  of  a  novel.  As  regards  the  novel,  at  least,  ru- 
mor was  right ;  and  there  is  now  no  longer  any  reason  for 
suppressing  the  following  pages,  which  will  give  an  idea  of 
the  scope  and  style  of  Miss  North's  story.  The  original  is 
written  in  a  clear,  bold  hand,  and  the  lines  are  wide  apart — so 
wide  apart,  indeed,  that  the  observant  reader  can,  if  he 
chooses,  easily  read  between  them. 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  May,  and  the  golden  sun- 
shine was  flooding  the  emerald  meadows  of  I) ,  an  an- 
cient and  picturesque  village  about  two  miles  nearer  London 

than  the   C P .     Little  do   the  inhabitants  of  that 

great  city,  who  lend  themselves  to  the  glittering  folHes  of 
fashion — little  do  they  reck  of  the  verdant  beauties  and  the 
pure  air  which  are  to  be  had  almost  within  the  four-mile  ra- 
dius. It  was  on  such  a  morning  that  our  two  lovers  met,  far 
away  from  the  haunts  of  men,  and  living  for  each  other  alone. 
In  the  distance  was  a  highway  leading  up  to  that  noble  insti- 
tution, the  C P ,  and  carriages  rolled  along  it ;  and 

at  the  front  of  the  stately  mansions  high-born  dames  vaulted- 
upon  their  prancing  barbs  and  caracoled  away  toward  the 


FLUTTERINGS  NEAR  THE  FLAME.  23 

horizon.*  Our  lovers  paid  no  heed  to  such  pomps  and  vani- 
ties ;  they  were  removed  above  earthly  things  by  the  sweet 
companionship  of  congenial  souls  ;  they  lived  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  their  own,  and  breathed  a  delight  which  the  callous 
votaries  of  fashion  could  neither  understand  nor  share. 

"  Virginia  Northbrook  was  the  name  of  the  one.  Some 
would  have  called  her  rather  good-looking ;  but  it  was  not  of 
that  we  mean  to  boast.  We  would  rather  speak  of  the  lofty 
poetry  of  her  soul,  and  of  her  desire  to  be  just  and  honorable, 
and  to  live  a  noble  life.  Alas  !  how  many  of  us  can  fulfill 
our  wishes  in  that  respect  ?  The  snares  and  temptations  of 
life  beset  us  on  every  side  and  dog  our  footsteps  ;  but  enough 
or  this  moralizing,  gentle  reader :  we  must  get  on  with  our 
story. 

"  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  baronet,  not  a  man  of  high  line- 
age, but  one  on  whom  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  fixed.  He 
had  accelerated  the  industries  of  his  native  land  in  opening 
up  stupendous  commercial  highways,  and  from  all  parts  of 
the  globe  his  advice  was  sought.  Alas  !  he  was  frequently 
away  from  home,  and  as  his  second  wife  was  a  wretched  and 
mean-spirited  creature,  Virginia  Northbrook  may  be  consid- 
ered to  have  been  really  an  orphan. 

"  The  other  of  our  two  lovers  was  called  Gilbert  Mount-Dun- 
das.  Neither  was  he  of  high  lineage  ;  but  a  grand  nobility 
of  nature  was  stamped  on  his  forehead.  His  father  had  at- 
tained to  great  fame  through  his  labors  in  the  cause  of  benev- 
olence and  charity;  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  import  him 
into  our  story.  Gilbert  Mount-Dundas  was  yet  young ;  but 
his  mind  was  fired  by  great  ambitions,  and  what  more  neces- 
sary to  encourage  these  than  the  loving  counsel  and  worship 
of  a  woman  ?  Ah,  woman,  woman,  if  you  could  understand 
how  we  men  are  indebted  to  you  when  you  cheer  us  onward 
in  the  hard  struggle  of  life  !  A  ministering  angel  thou,  truly, 
as  the  poet  writes.  If  thou  couldst  perceive  the  value  which 
we  place  on  thy  assistance,  then  thou  wouldst  never  be  ca- 
pricious, coy,  and  hard  to  please.  Mais  revmons  a  nos  mou- 
tons. 

"  It  would  be  a  difficult,  nay,  an  invidious,  task  to  describe 
the  manner  in  which  our  two  lovers  became  acquainted  with 

*  This  sentence,  or  the  latter  half  of  it,  may  recall  a  passage  in  a  fa- 
mous novel  which  was  published  two  or  three  years  ago  ;  and  I  hasten 
to  say  that  Miss  North  had  really  never  read  that  work.  The  brilliant 
and  distinguished  author  of  the  novel  in  question  has  so  frequently  been 
accused  of  plagiarism  which  was  almost  certainly  unconscious,  that  I  am 
sure  he  will  sympathize  with  this  young  aspirant,  and  acquit  her  of  any 
intentional  theft. 


24  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

each  other.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  although  the  world  might 
look  coldly  on  certain  informalities,  their  own  souls  informed 
them  that  they  had  no  cause  to  blush  for  their  mutual  ac- 
quaintance, an  acquaintance  which  had  ripened  into  knowl- 
edge, esteem,  and  love  !  Not  for  these  two,  indeed,  was  the 
ordinary  commonplace  history  of  a  courtship  and  marriage  ; 
which,  as  the  gentle  reader  knows,  is  an  introduction  at  a 
dinner-table,  a  lot  of  foolish  conversation  always  under  the 
eyes  of  friends,  an  engagement  with  every  body's  knowledge 
and  consent  {including  the  lawyer's)^  and  a  marriage  to  be  ad- 
vertised in  the  newspapers !  No,  no  ! — there  is  still  some  ro- 
mance in  this  cold  and  heartless  world ;  and,  whatever  harsh 
critics  may  say,  we,  for  one,  have  no  intention  of  blaming 
Gilbert  Mount-Dundas  and  Virginia  Northbrook  simply  be- 
cause, forsooth  !  the  whole  host  of  their  friends  did  not  happen 
to  be  present.  And  yet — for  who  knows  into  whose  hands 
these  pages  may  not  fall  ? — we  must  guard  against  a  miscon- 
ception. We  are  not  of  those  who  scorn  the  ceremonies  of 
our  social  life — far  from  it ;  and  we  would  not  be  understood 
as  recommending  to  the  youth  of  both  sexes  a  lofty  contempt 
for  the  proper  convenances.  Tout  au  contraire.  In  our  opinion, 
a  young  lady  can  not  be  too  particular  as  to  the  acquaint- 
ances she  makes  ;  and,  in  fact,  the  way  some  girls  will  giggle 
and  look  down  when  young  gentlemen  pass  them  in  the  street 
is  shocking,  and  perfectly  disgusting.  They  ought  to  remem- 
ber they  are  not  servant-maids  on  their  Sunday  out.  A  school- 
mistress is  not  doing  her  duty  who  does  not  check  such  un- 
lady-like  conduct  at  once ;  and  it  is  all  nonsense  for  her  to  pre- 
tend that  she  does  not  see  it.  I  know  very  well  she  sees  it ; 
but  she  is  nervous,  and  afraid  to  interfere,  lest  the  girls 
should  simply  deny  it,  and  so  place  her  at  a  disadvantage.  We 
will  recur  to  this  subject  at  a  future  time. 

"  It  was,  alas  !  but  to  say  farewell  that  Virginia  Northbrook 
and  Gilbert  Mount-Dundas  had  met.  Such  was  the  hard  fate 
of  two  who  had  known  the  sweet  companionship  of  love  for  a 
period  far  too  short ;  but  destiny  marches  along  with  an  un- 
pitying  stride,  and  we  poor  mortals  are  hurried  along  in  the 
current.  Tears  stood  in  the  maiden's  eyes,  and  she  would 
fain  have  fallen  on  her  knees,  and  besought  him  to  remain ; 
but  he  was  of  firmer  mettle,  and  endeavored  to  be  cheerful,  so 
that  he  might  lessen  the  agony  of  their  farewell. 

"  '  Oh,  my  Gilbert ! '  she  exclaimed,  '  when  shall  I  see  you 
once  more  ?  Your  path  is  clouded  over  with  dangers ;  and, 
scan  as  I  may  the  future,  I  see  no  prospect  of  your  return. 
Do  you  know  that  beautiful  song  which  says, 


FLUTTERINGS  NEAR  THE  FLAME.  25 

"  *  Shall  we  walk  no  more  in  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
Till  the  sea  gives  up  her  dead  ? ' 

"  He  was  deeply  affected ;  but  he  endeavored  to  conceal 
his  grief  with  a  smile. 

"  '  What !  '  said  he,  in  a  humorous  manner.  '  When  we 
meet,  I  hope  it  won't  be  in  wind  and  rain.  We  have  had 
enough  of  both  this  spring.' 

"  She  regarded  him  with  surprise ;  for  she  saw  not  the  worm 
that  was  corroding  his  heart  under  this  mask  of  levity.  And 
here  it  might  be  well  to  remark  on  the  danger  that  is  ever  at- 
tendant on  those  who  are  ashamed  of  their  emotions,  and 
cloak  them  in  a  garb  of  indifference  or  mockery.  Alas  ! 
what  sad  mistakes  arise  from  this  cause  !  The  present  writer 
is  free  to  confess  that  he  is  acquainted  with  a  gentleman  who 
runs  a  great  risk  of  being  misunderstood  by  a  hollow  world 
through  this  inveterate  habit.    We  believe  that  no  truer-hearted 

gentleman  exists  than  J D ,  although  he  is  not  what 

a  foolish  school-girl  would  call  an  Adonis  ;  but  how  often  he 
perplexes  his  best  friends  by  the  frivolous  manner  in  which 
he  says  the  very  opposite  of  the  thing  which  he  really  intends  ! 
It  is  very  annoying  not  to  know  when  a  person  is  serious.  If 
you  make  a  mistake,  and  treat  as  serious  what  is  meant  to  be 
a  joke,  you  look  foolish,  which  is  not  gratifying  even  to  the 
most  stoical-minded ;  whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  you  may 
treat  as  a  joke  something  that  is  really  serious,  and  offend  the 
feelings  of  persons  whom  you  love.  No,  youthful  reader,  if 
I  may  be  bold  enough  to  assume  that  such  will  scan  these 
pages,  candor  and  straightforward  speech  ought  to  be  your 
motto.     Magna  est  Veritas^  said  the  wise  Roman. 

"  How  sadly  now  shone  the  sun  on  the  beautiful  meadows 

of  D ,  and  on  the  lordly  spires  of  the  C P ,  as  our 

two  lovers  turned  to  take  a  last  adieu  !  He  was  going  away 
into  the  world,  to  conquer  fame  and  fortune  for  both  ;  she  was 
about  to  be  left  behind,  to  nurse  an  aching  heart. 

"  '  Take  this  sixpence  ;  I  have  bored  a  hole  in  it,'  observed 
Virginia. 

"  He  clasped  the  coin  to  his  breast,  and  smothered  it  with 
a  thousa.nd  kisses. 

"  '  My  beloved  Virginia  ! '  he  cried,  *  I  will  never  part  with 
it.  It  will  remind  me  of  you  in  distant  lands,  under  the  flam- 
ing skies  of  Africa,  in  the  mighty  swamps  of  America,  and  on 
the  arid  plains  of  Asia.  Our  friendship  has  been  a  brief  one ; 
but,  ah  !  how  sweet !  Once  more,  farewell,  Virginia  !  Be 
true  to  your  vow  ! ' 


26  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"He  tore  himself  away;  and  the  wretched  girl  was  left 
alone.  We  must  pursue  her  further  adventures  in  our  next 
chapter." 

Here,  then,  for  the  present,  end  our  quotations  from  Miss 
North's  MS.  work  of  fiction ;  it  is  necessary  to  get  back  to 
the  real  facts  of  the  case.  To  begin  Mith,  the  relation  be- 
tween Violet  North  and  the  young  gentleman  whom  she  met 
on  the  Dulwich  Road  were  much  less  intimate,  tender,  and 
romantic  than  those  which  existed  between  the  lofty  souls  of 
Virginia  Northbrook  and  Gilbert  Mount-Dundas.  Miss  Main's 
young  ladies  were  not  allowed  to  go  wandering  about  the 
country  unattended  by  any  escort,  however  brightly  the  sun 
might  be  shining  on  the  emerald  meadows,  and  on  the  towers 

of  the  C P .     Those  of  them  who  were  boarders  as 

well  as  pupils  were  marched  out  in  pairs,  with  Miss  Main  and 
Miss  North  at  their  head  ;  and  no  one  who  saw  them  would 
have  imagined  for  a  moment  that  the  tall  and  handsome  young 
lady  was  only  a  school-girl.  When  they  were  allowed  to  go 
and  see  their  friends,  their  friends  had  to  send  some  one  for 
them.  But  to  this  rule  there  was  one  exception,  which  seemed 
innocent  and  trifling  enough.  Miss  Main  knew  of  the  inti- 
macy between  Violet  North  and  the  mother  and  uncle  of  little 
Amy  Warrener ;  and  she  very  warmly  approved  of  it,  for  it 
promised  to  exercise  a  good  influence  over  this  incorrigible 
girl.  Then  Mr.  Drummond's  house  was  only  about  a  dozen 
doors  off ;  and  when  Miss  Violet  chose  to  go  round  and  visit 
her  friends  in  the  afternoon,  as  she  frequently  did,  was  it  nec- 
essary that  they  should  be  at  the  trouble  of  sending  for  her 
for  such  a  short  distance  ?  Mr.  Drummond  himself  invariably 
accompanied  her  back  to  the  school,  and  on  those  evenings 
Miss  Main  found  that  she  had  less  trouble  with  this  dreadful 
pupil  of  hers. 

So  it  came  aLout  that  George  Miller  on  one  or  two  occa- 
sions had  the  good  fortune  to  run  against  Miss  North  when 
she  was  actually  walking  out  alone.  On  the  first  occasion, 
she  was  just  going  into  James  Drummond's  house,  and  she 
had  turned  round  after  knocking  at  the  door.  For  a  second 
the  young  man  stopped,  embarrassed  as  to  what  he  should 
do  ;  while  she,  looking  rather  amused,  graciously  and  coolly 
bowed  to  him.  He  took  off  his  hat ;  and,  at  this  moment,  as 
the  door  was  opened,  his  doubt  was  resolved,  for,  with  a  frank 
smile  to  him,  she  disappeared. 

On  the  next  occasion,  he  caught  her  a  few  yards  farther 


FLUTTERINGS  NEAR  THE  FLAME.  27 

down  the  Grove,  and  made  bold  to  address  her.  He  said, 
rather  timidly, 

"  Won't  you  recognize  our  acquaintance,  Miss  North  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  said,  with  her  color  a  bit  heightened.  "  I  bow 
to  you  when  I  see  you.     Isn't  that  enough  ? " 

"  If  you  were  as  anxious  as  I  am  to  continue  our  acquaint- 
ance— "  said  he. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  anxious,"  she  said,  rather  proudly,  "  not 
at  all  anxious  to  continue  it  like  this,  anyway.  You  must  get 
to  know  my  friends  if  you  wish  to  know  me." 

She  was  for  moving  on  ;  but  somehow  he  seemed  to  inter- 
cept her,  and  there  were  a  great  submission  and  entreaty  in 
his  downcast  face. 

"But  how  can  I,  Miss  North?  I  have  tried.  How  can  I 
get  an  introduction  to  them?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ? "  she  said ;  and  then  she  bid  him  "  Good- 
afternoon,"  and  passed  on. 

Her  heart  smote  her  for  a  moment.  Was  it  right  to  treat 
a  faithful  friend  so?  But,  then,  she  was  not  herself  very  sen- 
sitive to  injury ;  she  did  not  suppose  she  had  mortally  wounded 
him  ;  and  she  speedily  was  rejoicing  over  the  thought  that  the 
most  faithful  of  friends  ought  to  be  put  to  the  proof.  If  he 
was  worth  any  thing,  he  would  bear  wrong,  he  would  over- 
come obstacles,  he  would  do  any  thing  to  secure  and  perfect 
this  idyllic  and  Plantonic  acquaintanceship.  If  he  was  only 
an  ordinary  young  man,  he  had  better  go  away. 

Mr.  George  Miller  was  only  an  ordinary  young  man  ;  but  he 
did  not  go  away.  He  had  not  been  suddenly  inspired  by  any 
romantic  attachment  for  the  young  lady  whom  he  had  met  in 
the  Dulwich  Road ;  but  he  had  been  greatly  struck  by  her 
good  looks ;  he  was  rather  anxious  to  know  something  more 
about  her;  and  then — for  he  was  but  twenty-two — there  was 
even  a  spice  of  adventure  in  the  whole  affair.  She  did  not 
know  how  patiently  and  persistently  he  had  strolled  all  about 
the  neighborhood  in  order  to  catch  an  occasional  glimpse  of 
her ;  and  how  many  afternoons  he  had  paced  up  and  down 
beneath  those  large  elms  near  the  head  of  Camberwell  Grove 
before  he  found  out  the  hour  when  she  generally  paid  her 
visit  to  Mr.  Drummond's  small  household.  It  was  some  oc- 
cupation for  him  ;  and  he  had  none  other  at  present ;  for  his 
father  was  then  looking  out  for  some  business  a  share  in 
which  he  could  purchase  and  present  to  his  son,  in  order  to 
induce  him  to  do  something.  Mr.  George  Miller  was  not 
averse  to  that  proposal.  He  had  grown  tired  of  idling,  riding, 
walking,  and  playing  billiards  all  day,  and  going  out  in  the 


23  '       MADCAP  VIOLET.  '       ^ 

evening  to  dull  dinners  at  the  houses  of  a  particular  clique  of 
rich  commercial  people  living  about  Sydenham  Hill.  It 
would  be  better,  he  thought,  to  go  into  the  City  like  every 
body  else,  and  have  a  comfortable  private  room  in  the  office, 
with  cigars  and  sherry  in  it.  Then  he  would  have  himself 
put  up  at  one  of  the  City  clubs  ;  and  have  a  good  place  for 
luncheon  and  an  afternoon  game  of  pool ;  and  make  the 
acquaintance  of  a  lot  of  blithe  companions.  IJe  knew  a  good 
many  City  men  already ;  they  seemed  to  have  an  abundance 
of  spirits  and  a  good  deal  of  time  on  their  hands — from  1.30 
onward  till  it  was  time  to  catch  the  train  and  get  home  to 
dinner. 

Meanwhile  this  little  adventure  with  a  remarkably  pretty 
girl  piqued  his  curiosity  about  her ;  and  he  was  aware  that, 
if  he  did  succeed  in  making  her  acquaintance,  the  friendship 
of  the  daughter  of  so  distinguished  a  man  as  Sir  Acton  North 
was  worth  having.  He  did  not  go  much  farther  than  that  in 
his  speculations.  He  did  not,  as  some  imaginative  youths 
would  have  done,  plan  out  a  romantic  marriage.  He  had  met, 
in  an  informal  and  curious  way,  a  singularly  handsome  girl, 
whom  he  could  not  fail  to  admire ;  and  there  were  just  those 
little  obstacles  in  the  way  of  gaining  her  friendship  that  made 
him  all  the  more  desirous  to  secure  it.  It  does  not  often  oc- 
cur to  a  somewhat  matter-of-fact  young  man  of  twenty-two, 
who  has  good  looks,  good  health,  and  ample  provision  of 
money,  that  he  should  sit  down  and  anxiously  construct  the 
horoscope  of  his  own  future.  To-day  is  a  fine  day  in  spring, 
and  the  life-blood  of  youth  runs  merrily  in  the  veins :  to 
morrow  is  with  the  gods. 

Yet  he  was  vexed  and  disappointed  when  he  left  her  on 
this  second  occasion.  She  was,  he  thought,  just  a  little  too 
independent  in  manner,  and  blunt  of  speech.  He  did  not  at 
all  look  at  their  relations  from  her  point  of  view.  If  she  had 
told  him  that  he  ought  to  be  her  knight- errant,  and  prove 
himself  worthy  by  great  sacrifices,  he  would  scarcely  have  un- 
derstood what  she  meant.  Indeed,  a  consciousness  began 
to  dawn  on  him  that  the  young  lady  was  a  school-girl  only  in 
name ;  and  that  there  was  a  more  definite  character  about 
her  than  is  generaly  to  be  discovered  in  a  young  miss  who  is 
busy  with  her  Italian  verbs.  George  Miller  was  in  a  bad 
humor  all  that  evening ;  and  on  going  to  bed  that  night  he 
vowed  he  would  straightway  set  off  for  Wales  next  morning, 
and  Miss  Violet  North  might  go  hang,  for  aught  he  cared. 

In  the  morning,  however,  that  wild  resolution— although, 
indeed,  there  was  more  prudence  in  it  than  he  suspected — was 


FLUTTERINGS  NEAR  THE  FLAME.  29 

abandoned ;  and  he  somewhat  listlessly  went  into  town,  to 
see  if  he  could  hunt  up  somebody  who  knew  Sir  Acton  North 
personally.  His  inquiries  had  to  be  conducted  very  cau- 
tiously ;  and  there  was  something  of  interest  in  the  search. 
Eventually,  too,  that  day  he  failed  ;  and  so,  as  he  had  to  get 
back  to  Sydenham  to  dress  for  an  early  dinner,  he  thought 
he  would  go  out  to  Denmark  Hill  station  and  walk  across. 
He  might  get  another  glance  of  Violet  North,  and  it  was  pos- 
sible she  might  be  in  a  better  temper. 

Well,  he  was  going  up  Grove  Lane  when,  turning  the  cor- 
ner, he  suddenly  found  himself  in  presence  of  Miss  North 
and  another  lady.  He  felt  suddenly  guilty ;  he  checked  his 
first  involuntary  impulse  to  take  off  his  hat ;  and  he  endeav- 
ored to  pass  them  without  any  visible  recognition. 

But  that  was  not  Violet  North's  way. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Miller,"  she  said,  aloud,  "  how  do  you  do  t  " 

He  paused  in  time  to  prevent  Mrs.  Warrener  observing 
his  effort  to  escape  ;  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  rather  nervously 
shook  hands  with  her. 

"  Let  me  introduce  you,"  said  the  young  lady,  boldly,  "  to 
Mrs.  Warrener.     Mr.  Miller — Mrs.  Warrener." 

He  received  a  very  pleasant  greeting  from  the  little  fair- 
haired  woman,  who  liked  the  look  of  the  young  man. 

"  What  a  beautiful  afternoon  it  is ! "  said  he,  hastily. 
"  And  how  fine  those  fruit-trees  look  now !  We  deserve 
some  good  weather  after  such  a  winter.  Do  you — do  you 
live  up  here,  Mrs.  Warrener  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  You  know  the  cottage  with  the  thatched  roof 
near  the  top  of  the  Grove  ?  "  she  said.  She  began  to  think 
that  this  young  man  was  really  handsome. 

"  Of  course — every  one  about  here  knows  it.  What  a 
charming  place  !  and  the  garden  you  must  have  behind  ! 
Well,  don't  let  me  hinder  you  ;  it  is  a  beautiful  evening  for 
a  walk.     Good-day,  Miss  North." 

He  ventured  to  shake  hands  with  her ;  he  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Warrener,  and  then  he  turned  away — scarcely  knowing  what 
he  had  said  or  done. 

"  A  friend  of  your  father's,  I  suppose  t  "  said  Mrs.  War- 
rener to  Miss  Violet  as  they  passed  on. 

"  N-no,  not  exactly,"  said  the  girl,  looking  down. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  some  friends  of  yours  know  him." 

"  N-no,  not  exactly  that,  either." 

Then  she  suddenly  lifted  her  eyes,  and  said,  frankly, 

"  Mrs.  Warrener,  I  suppose  you'll  think  me  a  most  wicked 
creature  ;  but — but  it  is  better  you  should  know  ;  and  I  never 


30  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

saw  that  young  man  till  the  day  I  left  school  over  that  dis- 
turbance, you  remember — and  he  knows  no  one  I  know — 
and  I  was  never  introduced  to  him  by  any  body." 

Each  sentence  had  been  uttered  with  increasing  despera- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  Violet,"  her  friend  said,  "  how  could  you  be  so 
thoughtless — and  w^orse  than  thoughtless  ?  You  have  been 
concealing  your  acquaintance  with  this  young  man  even  from 
your  best  friends.     I — I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  it." 

"  You  may  say  about  it  any  thing  you  please — except  that," 
said  the  girl,  indignantly.  "  I  deserve  every  thing  you  can 
say  about  me — only  don't  say  I  concealed  any  thing  from  you. 
There  was  nothing  to  conceal.  I  have  only  spoken  a  few 
words  with  him ;  and  the  last  time  I  saw  him  I  told  him  if 
he  wanted  our  acquaintance  to  continue  he  must  get  to  know 
eitherjmy  father  or  some  of  my  friends.  There  was  nothing 
to  conceal.     I  should  be  ashamed  to  conceal — " 

At  this  point  it  seemed  to  occur  to  her  that  a  self-convicted 
prisoner  ought  not  to  lecture  the  judge  to  whom  he  is  appeal- 
ing for  a  merciful  judgment. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  she  said,  in  a  humble  tone,  "  I 
hope  you  won't  think  I  tried  to  conceal  any  thing  of  impor- 
tance from  you.  I  thought  it  would  be  all  cleared  up  and 
made  right  when  he  got  properly  introduced.  And  just  now, 
when  he  did  not  wish  to  compromise  me,  and  would  have 
passed  without  a  word,  I  thought  I  would  just  tell  you  how 
matters  stood,  and  so  I  stopped  him.  Was  there  any  con- 
cealment in  that }  " 

"  But  how  did  you  meet  him — where  did  you  meet  him?  " 
said  Mrs.  Warrener,  still  to  much  astonished  to  be  either 
angry  or  forgiving. 

"  I  saw  him  on  the  road  to  the  Crystal  Palace,"  said  Miss 
North.  ''  I  was  attacked  by  a  ferocious  dog — such  a  ferocious 
dog,  Mrs.  Warrener !  YouVe  no  idea  how  he  flew  at  me  ! 
and  Mr.  Miller  came  and  beat  him  and  drove  him  away." 

"  Then  you  know  his  name  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  said  Miss  North,  quite  brightly.  "  I  am  sure 
you  must  have  heard  of  Mr.  George  Miller,  the  great  mer- 
chant and  philanthropist,  who  builds  churches,  and  gives 
large  sums  of  money  to  charities  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,"  Mrs.  Warrener  admitted. 

"  Then  that  is  his  son  !  "  said  Violet,  triumphantly. 

"  But  you  know,  Violet,  Mr.  George  Miller's  philanthropy 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  have  formed  the  acquaintance- 


FLUTTERINGS  NEAI^  THE  FLAME.  -t 

ship  of  his  son  in  this  manner.  Where  did  you  see  him 
next?" 

"  At  the  Crystal  Palace,"  said  Violet,  and  the  burden  of 
her  confessions  seemed  growing  lighter.  "  I  was  very  hun- 
gry. I  had  to  go  and  get  something  to  eat  at  the  restaurant. 
I  couldn't  do  any  thing  else,  could  I  ?  Well,  the  waiters 
weren't  attending  to  me  ;  and  Mr.  Miller  was  there  ;  and  he 
helped  me  to  get  something  to  eat.  Was  there  any  harm  in 
.that?" 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  not  going  to  answer  offhand ;  but,  as  she 
felt  that  she  almost  stood  in  the  light  of  a  parent  toward  the 
girl,  she  was  determined  to  know  exactly  how  matters  stood. 

"  Has  he  written  to  you,  or  have  you  written  to  him  ? " 

"  Certainly  not !  " 

"  He  knows  your  name,  and  who  you  are  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

So  far  the  affair  was  all  clear  and  open  enough ;  and  yet 
Mrs.  Warrener,  who  was  not  as  nimble  a  reasoner  as  her 
brother,  was  puzzled.  There  was  something  wrong,  but  she 
did  not  know  what.  By  this  time  they  had  got  back  to  the 
house. 

"Violet,  JList  come  in  for  a  minute.  James  will  take  you 
down  to  the  school  by-and-by.  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  the  girl,  with  sudden  alarm,  "  I 
very  much  wish  you  not  to  say  any  thing  about  all  this  to  Mr. 
Drummond ! " 

"  Why  not  ? " 

"  I  would  much  rather  you  said  nothing !  " 

"  Well,  I  can  not  promise  that,  Violet ;  but  I  will  not  speak 
of  it  to  him  just  yet." 

They  entered  the  parlor,  which  was  empty,  and  Violet  sat 
down  on  a  chair  looking  less  bold  and  defiant  than  usual,  while 
her  friend,  puzzled  and  perturbed,  was  evidently  trying  to  find 
out  what  she  should  do. 

"What  I  can't  understand  is  this,  Violet,"  she  said,  hitting 
by  accident  on  the  kernel  of  the  whole  matter.  "  What  object 
was  there  in  his  or  your  wishing  to  continue  an  acquaintance 
so  oddly  begun  ?  That  is  what  I  can't  understand.  Men 
often  are  of  assistance  in  such  trifles  to  ladies  whom  they  don't 
know  ;  but  they  do  not  seek  to  become  friends  on  the  strength 
of  it.  Why  does  he  wish  to  know  you,  and  why  should  you 
tell  him  to  go  and  get  some  proper  introduction  to  you  ? " 

"  I  did  not  tell  him  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  said  Miss  Vio- 
let, respectfully,  but  very  proudly.  "  I  told  him  that  if  he 
wished  to  speak  to  me  in  the  future,  he  must  go  get  some 


32  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

proper  introduction.     But  you  do  think  I  asked  him  to  come 
and  see  me  ?     Certainly  not.     What  is  it  to  me  t " 

She  was  obviously  much  hurt. 

"Then  why  should  you  continue  this — this — clandestine 
acquaintance,  Violet  ? "  Mrs.  Warrener  asked,  timidly. 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  clandestine  acquaintance," 
the  girl  said,  warmly.  "  But  if  Mr.  Miller  wishes  to  add 
another  person  to  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance,  am  I  to  for- 
bid him.?  Is  there  any  harm  in  that  ?  Don't  you  sometimes 
see  people  whom  you  would  like  to  know  ?  And,  then,  if  he 
could  not  at  the  time  get  any  one  to  introduce  him  to  me  in 
the  usual  way,  his  getting  to  know  you  was  quite  as  good ; 
and  now,  if  you  choose  to  do  so,  you  can  take  away  all  the 
clandestine  look  from  our  acquaintance.  You  have  seen  him. 
You  could  ask  him  to  call  on  you." 

Mrs.  Warrener  seemed  to  shrink  in  dismay  from  this  bold 
proposal.  But,  before  she  could  answer,  Violet  North  had 
hastily,  and  with  some  confusion,  corrected  herself. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  I  don't  wish  you  to  ask 
him  to  call  on  you — not  at  all.  But  when  5^ou  speak  of  our 
clandestine  acquaintance,  here  is  an  easy  way  of  making  it  not 
clandestine." 

"  No,  Violet,"  her  friend  said,  with  unusual  firmness,  "  I 
can  not  do  that.  I  could  not  assume  such  a  responsibility. 
Before  making  such  an  acquaintance  in  this  extremely  singu- 
lar way,  you  ought  to  ask  your  mamma." 

"  Haven't  got  any,"  said  Miss  North,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Or  some  one  qualified  to  give  their  sanction." 

"I  don't  know  any  one  so  well  as  I  do  you,"  said  the  girl ; 
and  then  she  said,  "  But  do  you  think  I  am  begging  of  you  to 
patronize  that  young  man  ?  I  hope  not.  Mrs.  Warrener,  I 
think  I  had  better  go  down  now." 

At  this  moment  James  Drummond  made  his  appearance,  an 
old  brown  wide-awake  on  his  head. 

"  Ah,  well.  Miss  Violet ;  no  more  singing  at  Dixie's  Land, 
eh  1  You  have  never  been  in  Dixie's  Land,  I  suppose.  But 
were  you  ever  in  the  Highlands  ?  Have  you  ever  seen  the 
mountains  and  lochs  of  the  West  Highlands  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  them,"  Miss  North  said,  coldly.  She  was 
very  far  from  being  pleased  at  the  moment. 

"Now  do  sit  down  for  a  moment  till  I  open  out  this  plan 
before  you.  That  is  better.  Well,  I  think  we  shall  take  no 
less  than  two  months'  holiday  this  autumn,  August  and  Sep- 
tember, and  I  have  my  eye  on  a  small  but  highly  romantic 
cottage  in  the  Highlands,  connected  with  which  are  some  lit- 


FLUTTERINGS  NEAR  THE  FLAME.  33 

tie  shooting  and  fishing ;  plenty  of  fishing,  indeed,  for  there 
are  a  great  many  fish  in  the  sea  up  there.  Now,  Miss  Violet, 
do  you  think  you  could  persuade  your  father  and  Miss  Main 
to  let  you  come  with  us  part  of  the  time  ?  It  must  be  very 
wretched  for  you  spending  your  holidays  every  year  at  school." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  Miss  Violet, 
with  great  dignity.  "  It  is  very  kind  of  you  ;  you  are  always 
kind ;  but  if  my  friends  are  not  fit  to  be  introduced  into  your 
house,  then  neither  am  I." 

He  stared  in  astonishment,  and  then  he  looked  at  his  sis- 
ter, whose  pale  and  gentle  face  flushed  up.  Miss  Violet  sat 
calm  and  proud ;  she  had  been  goaded  into  this  declaration. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh,  James,"  cried  his  sister,  "  I  thought  Violet  did  not 
wish  you  to  know ;  but  now  I  will  tell  you,  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  say  I  am  right.  It  is  no  disrespect  I  have  for  the 
young  man.     I  liked  his  appearance  very  much — but — " 

"  What  young  man  ?  " 

Then  the  story  had  to  be  told ;  and  if  Miss  North  had  been 
in  a  better  temper  she  would  have  acknowledged  that  it  was 
told  with  great  fairness,  gentleness,  and  consideration.  James 
Drummond  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  stretched  out 
his  long  legs. 

"  Well,  Violet,"  said  he,  in  his  quiet  and  kindly  way,  "  I 
can  understand  how  you  should  feel  hurt,  if  you  suppose  for 
a  moment  that  my  sister  thinks  you  wish  us  to  ask  that  young 
man  here  for  your  sake.  But  you  are  quite  wrong  if  you  as- 
sume that  to  be  the  case.  We  know  your  pride  and  self- 
respect  too  much  for  that.  On  the  other  hand,  might  not 
this  Mr.  Miller  consider  it  rather  strange  if  we  asked  him 
to  come  here  to  meet  you  ?     You  see — " 

"  I  don't  wish  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  she  said,  hastily. 
"  Do  you  think  I  wish  to  meet  him  ?  What  I  wish  is  this — 
that  you  should  not  talk  of  clandestine  acquaintanceship 
when  I  offer  to  introduce  him  to  you,  and  when  you  can  get  to 
know  him  if  you  please." 

He  was  too  good-natured  to  meet  the  girl's  impatience 
with  a  retort.     He  only  said,  in  the  same  gentle  fashion, 

"  Well,  I  think  you  have  tumbled  by  accident  into  a  very 
awkward  position,  Violet,  if  I  must  speak  the  truth,  and  I 
would  strongly  advise  you  to  have  nothing  further  to  do  with 
Mr.  Miller,  however  amiable  the  young  man  may  be,  unless 
you  should  meet  him  at  the  house  of  one  of  your  friends." 

"  I  go  to  so  many  friends'  houses  !  " 
3 


34  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  How  can  you  expect  to  go  ?  You  are  at  school  :  your 
whole  attention  should  be  taken  up  with  your  lessons." 

"  I  thought  even  school-girls  were  allowed  to  have  friends. 
And  you  know  I  am  kept  at  school  only  to  be  out  of  the 
way." 

She  rose  once  more  :  the  discussion  was  obviously  profit- 
less. 

"  I  don't  think  I  need  trouble  you  to  come  down  with  me, 
Mr.  Drummond,"  said  she,  with  much  lofty  courtesy  of  man- 
ner. 

"  I  am  going  with  you,  whether  you  consider  it  a  trouble  or 
not,"  said  he,  laughing. 

She  somewhat  distantly  bid  Mrs.  Warrener  good-bye ;  and 
that  fair-haired  little  woman  was  grieved  that  the  girl  should 
go  away  with  harsh  thoughts  of  her  in  her  heart.  As  for  Mr. 
Drummond,  when  he  got  outside,  he  was  determined  to  chanii 
away  her  disappointment,  and  began  talking  lightly  and 
cheerfully  to  her,  though  she  paid  but  little  heed. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  you  always  disgust  people  by  giving  them 
good  advice  ;  but  you  wouldn't  have  us  give  you  bad  advice, 
Violet  ?  Now,  you  will  be  a  reasonable  young  lady ;  and  by 
to-morrow  morning  you  will  see  that  we  have  acted  all  round 
in  a  highly  decorous  and  proper  fashion ;  and  if  you  try  to 
gain  Miss  Main's  good-conduct  prize  this  session,  I  will  ask 
her  to  put  you  down  a  hundred  marks  on  account  of  certain 
circumstances  that  have  come  to  my  knowledge,  though  I 
can't  reveal  them.  That  is  settled ;  is  it  not  now  ?  So  your  fa- 
ther has  come  back  to  London :  I  see  he  was  in  a  deputation  at 
the  Home  Office  yesterday.  How  tired  he  must  be  of  railways ! 
or  does  he  languish  when  he  has  to  stop  in  town  three  days  run- 
ning ?  Do  you  know,  I  once  heard  of  a  boatman  at  Brighton — 
one  of  those  short  and  stout  men  who  pass  their  lives  in  leaning 
over  the  railings  of  the  Parade — and  somebody  went  and 
died  and  left  him  a  public-house  in  the  Clapham  Road.  You 
would  think  that  was  a  great  advance  in  life  .?  I  tell  you  he 
became  the  most  miserable  of  men.  He  got  no  rest ;  he 
moved  about  uneasily ;  and  at  last,  when  the  place  was  kill- 
ing him,  he  happened  to  put  up  a  wooden  railing  in  front  of 
the  public-house  just  where  the  horses  used  to  come  and 
drink  at  the  trough,  and  quite  by  accident  he  found  it  was  a 
capital  place  to  put  his  elbows  on  and  lean  over.  I  declare 
to  you  he  hadn't  lounged  on  that  railing  twenty  minutes  when 
all  the  old  satisfaction  with  life  returned  to  his  face  ;  and 
any  day  you'll  see  him  lounging  there  now,  looking  at  the 


FLUTTERINGS  NEAR  THE  FLAME.  35 

horses  drinking.  That  shows  vou  what  custom  does,  doesn't 
it  ? " 

Of  course,  there  was  no  such  thing — no  such  boatman  or 
public-house  in  the  Clapham  road  ;  but  it  was  a  pecuHarity 
of  this  talker  that  when  once  he  had  imagined  an  anecdote 
he  himself  almost  took  it  to  be  true.  He  did  not  mean  to 
deceive  his  listener.  If  this  thing  had  not  happened,  how 
did  he  know  of  it .''  The  creations  of  his  fancy  took  the  place 
of  actual  experiences.  His  sister  never  could  tell  whether  he 
had  really  seen  certain  things  during  his  morning's  walk,  or 
only  imagined  them  and  stuck  them  in  his  memory  all  the 
same. 

It  was  a  fine,  quiet  evening  up  here  among  the  green  foli- 
age of  the  spring.  It  was  a  gray  twilight,  with  a  scent  of  the 
lilacs  in  the  cool  air  :  and  the  mighty  chestnut-trees,  the  spiked 
blossoms  of  which  looked  pale  in  the  fading  light,  seemed 
to  be  holding  these  up  as  spectral  lamps  to  light  the  coming 
dusk.  It  was  still  a  calm,  peaceable  evening  ;  but  even  the 
unobservant  Mr.  Drummond  could  remark  that  his  compan- 
ion was  not  at  all  attuned  to  this  gentle  serenity.  Her 
moody  silence  was  ominous. 

"  You  will  come  round  and  see  us  to-morrow  afternoon  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  said,  with  her  hand  on  the  open 
door. 

"  Now  be  a  sensible  girl,  Violet,  and  believe  me  that  we 
have  given  you  good  advice.  Don't  forget  what  I  said  to  you  ; 
and  come  up  to-morrow  evening  to  show  me  that  we  are  all 
still  good  friends." 

So  Mr.  Drummond  walked  away  up  the  hill  again,  whistling 
absently ;  one  hand  in  his  trousers-pocket ;  his  hat  rather  on 
the  back  of  his  head ;  and  unusual  gravity  of  thoughtfulness 
in  his  face.  Miss  Violet,  on  the  other  hand,  went  indoors, 
and  up  to  her  own  room.  She  was  the  only  boarder  in  the 
place  who  had  a  room  all  to  herself  ;  but  on  this  Sir  Acton 
North  had  insisted. 

She  threw  open  the  window,  and  sat  down  :  far  below  her 
they  had  lighted  a  street-lamp,  and  there  was  a  curious  light 
shining  on  the  lower  branches  of  the  chestnuts.  The  sound 
of  one  or  two  people  walking  in  the  distance  seemed  to  in- 
crease the  stillness  of  the  night ;  and  one  would  not  have 
been  surprised  to  find  the  first  faint  glimmer  of  a  star  in  the 
darkening  heavens. 

Peace  enough  without,  but  a  fierce  fire  of  wrath  within. 

*' They   have   done    it   now,"  she   was    saying  to   herself. 


36  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Yes,  they  have  done  it.  I  gave  them  the  chance,  and 
wished  to  be  as  proper  in  my  conduct  as  any  body  could  be  ; 
but  now  they  have  driven  me  to  something  very  different.  I 
don't  want  to  see  him — I  dare  say  I  shall  hate  him  when  I 
see  him  ;  but  I  will  see  him — and  I  will  meet  him  whenever 
he  likes  ;  and  I  will  write  letters  to  him  till  two  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  and  if  they  won't  let  me  make  friends  in  the  ordinary 
way,  I  will  make  friends  for  myself  in  some  other  way.  And 
that  is  what  they  have  done  ! " 

So  the  wild  winds  of  folly  and  anger  and  unreason  blow  us 
this  way  and  that,  that  the  gods  may  have  their  sport  of  us  ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

SUBTERRANEAN    FIRES. 

A  SUDDEN  change  came  over  the  tone  and  style  of  Violet 
North's  novel.  It  had  opened  in  a  gentle  and  idyllic  mood, 
dealing  with  the  aspirations  of  noble  souls  and  the  pathos  of 
lovers'  partings  ;  it  was  now  filled  with  gloom,  revenge,  and 
detestation  of  the  world.  The  following  brief  extract  may 
suffice  to  show  the  artist's  second  manner,  and  has  other 
significance  as  well : 

"  When  we  bid  farewell  to  Virginia  Northbrook  in  a  previ- 
ous chapter,  she  had  been  up  to  that  moment  supported  by 
the  companionship  of  one  of  the  noblest  of  men  ;  but  now, 
when  she  turned  away,  with  the  wild  tears  glittering  in  her 
eyes,  she  felt,  alas  !  what  a  bitter  mockery  the  world  was, 
and  her  young  and  ardent  nature  was  shocked  and  wounded 
by  the  cruel  selfishness  of  her  fellow-creatures.  All  around 
her  was  gloom.     No  longer  did  the  cheerful  sun  light  up  the 

emerald  meadows  of   D .     Nature  sympathized  with  her 

stricken  heart ;  even  Ihe  birds  were  silent,  and  stood  respect- 
fully aside  to  see  this  wretched  girl  pass.  The  landscape 
wore  a  sable  garb,  and  the  happy  insects  that  flew  about 
seemed  to  be  crushed  with  the  dread  of  an  impending  storm. 

"  For  why  sh©uld  the  truth  be  concealed  "i  That  cruel 
parting  which  we  have  described  was  wholly  unnecessary;  it 
was  the  result  of  malice  and  selfishness  of  the  part  of  those 
who  ought  to  have  known  better ;  they  had  determined  to 
separate  our  two  lovers  ;  and  their  cunning  wiles  had  suc- 
ceeded.    Alas  !  when  will  the  heartless  worldling  learn  that 


SUBTERRANEAN  FIRES. 


37 


there  is  something  nobler  and  higher  than  the  love  of  Mam- 
mon and  the  hypocritical  gloss  which  they  call,  forsooth, 
respectability?  Why  should  not  two  young  hearts  fulfill 
their  destiny  ?  Why  should  they  be  torn  asunder  and  cast 
bleeding  into  an  abyss  of  misery,  where  hope  is  extinguished, 
and  the  soul  left  a  prey  to  the  most  horrible  horrors  ? 

"  But  the  present  writer  must  guard  himself  against  being 
misunderstood  in  describing  Virginia  Northbrook's  desolate 
condition.  She  was  alone,  and  the  cold  world  was  against  her  ; 
but  did  she  succumb  ?  No  !  her  spirit  was  of  firmer  mettle. 
It  was  a  singular  point  in  the  character  of  our  heroine  that 
whereas,  with  kindness  she  was  as  docile  as  a  lamb — and 
most  grateful  to  those  who  were  kind  to  her — cruelty  drove 
her  into   desperation.     When  she  parted  from  Gilbert,  and 

took  her  way  home  to  C G ,  her  soul  was  more 

dauntless  than  ever. 

"  *  Do  they  think  they  have  conquered  me  ? '  she  cried 
aloud,  while  a  wild  smile  broke  over  her  features.  'No;  they 
will  learn  that  within  this  outward  semblance  of  a  girl  there 
is  the  daring  of  a  woman  ! ' 

"  Poor  misguided  creature,  she  was  deceiving  herself.  She 
was  no  longer  a  woman — but  a  fiend  !  Despair  and  cruelty 
had  driven  her  to  this.  Was  it  not  sad  to  see  this  innocent 
brow  plotting  deadly  schemes  of  revenge  on  those  who  had 
parted  her  from  her  lover,  in  deference  to  the  idle  prejudices 
of  an  indifferent  world  ? 

"  Yes,  reader ;  you  will  judge  as  to  whether  she  was  or 
was  not  justified  ;  and,  oh  !  I  appeal  to  you  to  be  merciful, 
and  take  into  consideration  what  you  were  at  her  age.  We 
will  reserve  for  another  chapter  a  description  of  the  plot  which 
Virginia  invented,  together  with  the  manner  in  which  she  car- 
ried it  out." 

At  this  point  of  her  imaginary  life,  there  occurred  a  consid- 
erable hiatus  ;  for  her  real  life,  became  more  full  of  immedi- 
ate and  pressing  interest.  Violet  North  dispossessed  Vir- 
ginia Northbrook.  The  details  of  the  plot  mentioned  above 
must  be  put  in,  therefore,  by  another  and  less  romantic  hand. 

First  of  all,  this  proud,  willful,  impetuous,  and  mischief-lov- 
ing girl  suddenly  showed  herself  obedient,  attentive  to  her 
school  duties,  and  most  clearly  respectful  and  courteous  to 
the  chief  mistress.  Miss  Main  was  at  first  puzzled  and  sus- 
picious ;  then  she  was  overjoyed. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said  to  the  german  master,  "  it  is  only  to 
spite  Miss  Wolf  that  she  means  to  take  the  good-conduct 


38  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

prize,  as  she  took  the  French  and  German  last  term  ;  but  if 
she  makes  up  her  mind  to  it,  she  will  do  it." 

Then  all  the  girls  understood  that  Violet  North  meant  to 
have  the  good-conduct  prize  ;  and  they,  too,  knew  she  must 
have  it  if  she  seriously  meant  to  gain  it. 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  abrupt  reformation,  Miss  Main 
said  to  the  girl,  in  a  kindly  way, 

"  Miss  North,  why  don't  you  go  up  to  Mrs.  Warrener's 
as  you  used  to  do .''  Amy  has  not  told  me  they  were  from 
home." 

"  No,  Miss  Main,"  said  the  girl,  with  great  respect,  "  they 
are  at  home.  But — but  when  I  go  up  there,  it  seems  a  pity  I 
should  have  to  trouble  Mr.  Drummond  to  come  back  again 
with  me.  It  is  such  a  short  distance  ;  he  must  think  me  very 
timid  or  foolish." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  school-mistress,  "  that  need  not 
bother  you.  The  distance  is  very  short  indeed.  You  might 
easily  run  down  here  by  yourself." 

'  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Miss  North,  very  calmly.  *'  That 
is  very  kind  of  you,  Miss  Main  ;  for  one  does  not  like  to  be 
a  trouble  to  one's  friends." 

There  was  less  of  calm  respectfulness — there  was,  on  the 
contrary,  a  proud  and  defiant  determination — on  her  face 
when  she  went  up-stairs  to  her  own  room.  There  she  sat 
down  and  wrote  out  three  copies  of  the  following  mysterious 
announcement : 

"  Violet, — Is  G.  M.  ever  about  Champion  Hill  at  five  p.m.  ? 
V.  ivould  like  to  apologize  for  rudeness. ^^ 

She  must  have  contemplated  beforehand  sending  these  ad- 
vertisements ;  for  she  was  already  supplied  with  postage- 
stamps  for  the  purpose. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  this  that  Miss  North  met  Mr. 
George  Miller;  and  their  place  of  meeting  was  the  Champion 
Hill  mentioned  above. 

"How  odd  you  should  have  seen  the  advertisement!" 
said  she,  frankly  going  forward  to  him.  There  was  no  sort 
of  embarrassment  in  her  manner. 

"  What  advertisement  ? "  said  he,  amazed. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  quickly  altering  her  tone,  "  it  was  nothing 
—a  mere  trifle.  I  thought  I  had  been  rather  rude  to  you ; 
and  I  wished  to  apologize.  So  I  put  a  line  in  the  papers. 
Now  I  have  apologized  to  you — " 

''  Yes  1 "  said  he,  rather  puzzled. 


SUBTERRANEAN  FIRES. 


39 


"Well,  there's  no  more  to  be  said — is  there  ?"  she  re- 
marked. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  wish  to  bid  me  good-bye  ?  said 
he,  rather  stiffly.  He  considered  that  this  young  lady's  man- 
ner of  treating  him  was  just  a  trifle  too  dictatorial. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  indifferently.  "  What  were 
you  coming  about  here  for,  if  you  did  not  see  the  advertise- 
ment?" 

'^  I  thought  I  might  see  you." 

She  smiled  demurely.     "  At  the  head  of  the  school  ?  " 

"  Any  way.  Even  that  would  be  better  than  nothing,"  said 
he ;  for  she  was  very  pretty,  and  he  lost  his  head  for  the  mo- 
ment. 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  a  burst  of  good-nature,  "since  I'm 
not  at  the  head  of  the  school,  I  will  walk  down  with  you 
to  the  foot  of  Green  Lane.     I  suppose  you  are  going  home  ? " 

"  Y-yes,"  said  he,  doubtfully.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you  some- 
thing, if  there  was  an  opportunity." 

"  Pleasant,  or  not  ?  If  not,  don't  let  us  have  it,  please  ;  I 
have  enough  of  worry." 

"You — worry.-"' said  he,  with  a  laugh.  "You  talk  as  if 
you  were  a  woman  of  thirty.  And,  indeed,  I  think  all  this 
farce  of  keeping  you  a  school-girl  ought  to  be  burst  up.  It  is 
quite  ridiculous.  You  ought  to  be  at  home,  or  in  some  one's 
house,  where  you  would  meet  people  and  be  allowed  to  make 
friends — instead  of  slipping  out  like  this,  and  probably  get- 
ting us  both  into  trouble — " 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  shortly.  "  What  was  it  you  were  going 
to  tell  me  ?" 

"  1  have  found  out  a  man  I  know  in  the  City  who  knows 
Mr.  Drummond,"  said  he,  "  and  he  proposes  to  introduce  us 
to  each  other — in  an  accidental  way,  you  understand.  Now, 
will  that  satisfy  you  ? " 

"  Satisfy  me  ? "  she  said,  turning  her  proud,  black  eyes  on 
him  with  an  air  of  surprise.  "  Have  I  been  anxious  to  be 
satisfied  1 " 

"  I  did  not  say  you  were,"  said  he,  testily.  "  You  seem 
bent  on  a  quarrel." 

"  Oh  no,  I'm  not,"  she  answered,  with  one  of  those  quick 
smiles  that  could  disarm  even  the  awful  anger  of  an  outraged 
school  mistress.  "  But  you  must  always  bear  in  mind,  if  you 
wish  to  see  me  at  all,  that  the  wish  is  on  your  side.  As  for  me 
— well,  I  have  no  objection." 

"  You  are  very  proud." 

"  No  ;  only  frank." 


40  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"Well,  about  Mr.  Drummond — won't  that  satisfy  every 
body?  I  have  been  introduced  to  that  lady — what  is  her 
name  ? " 

"  Warrener." 

"  Then  I  shall  make  his  acquaintance  ;  and  if  he  is  a  friend- 
ly sort  of  man,  I  will  ask  him  to  dine  with  me  ;  and  very  likely 
he  will  do  the  same  by  me  ;  and  I  am  sure  to  meet  you  at  his 
house.     Now,  is  that  all  right  ?" 

"  No,  all  wrong,"  she  said,  with  a  charming  smile.  "  They 
\Von't  have  any  thing  to  do  with  you." 

"  Did  you  tell  them  .'* "  said  he,  with  sudden  alarm. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  remarked,  speaking  very  distinctly.  "  I  told 
them  that  I  had  accidentally  made  your  acquaintance ;  that 
you  seemed  to  wish  to  continue  it ;  and  that,  if  they  chose, 
they  could  be  friendly  and  take  you  under  their  charge." 

"  And  what  did  they  say  ? " 

"They  refused — too  much  responsibility." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ? "  said  he. 

"  I  ? "  she  said,  with  a  bright  laugh.  "  I  mean  to  walk  down 
to  the  foot  of  Green  Lane  with  you,  and  then  go  back  to  the 
school.     Is  not  that  good-nature  enough  for  one  day  ? " 

"  And  after  that — are  we  to  consider  our  acquaintance  at  an 
end.?" 

"  As  you  please,"  said  she. 

"  Do  you  meam  that  you  propose  to  continue  this  hide-and- 
seek  way  of  meeting — this  slinking  round  corners  so  as  to 
avoid  being  caught  ?  Of  course,  it  is  very  romantic,  but  at 
the  same  time — " 

"  At  the  same  time,"  said  she,  with  a  clear  emphasis  which 
rather  startled  him,  "  I  mean  to  say  a  word  to  you  that  you 
must  not  forget.  I  can  not  allow  you  to  assume  for  a  moment 
that  I  care  a  half-penny  whether  I  meet  you  or  whether  I  don't. 
Do  you  think  I  wish  to  play  at  hide-and-seek  .?  Now  please 
don't  talk  like  that  again." 

"Well  said  he,  rather  humbly,  "  I  no  sooner  propose  one 
way  of  putting  an  end  to  this  state  of  things  than  you  immedi- 
ately say  it  is  of  no  use,  and  seem  rather  glad.  Perhaps  you 
could  tell  me  another  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  yes,"  said  she,  with  great  cheerfulness.  "  Why 
should  we  ever  meet  again  anywhere  or  anyhow  }  Would  not 
that  solve  the  difficulty  ?  " 

"  Very  well !  "  said  he,  driven  to  anger  by  her  indifference 
and  audacious  light-heartedness.  "  It  is  better  so.  Good- 
bye !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand. 


SUBTERRANEAN-  FIRES.  41 

"  And  I  am  not  to  go  clown  to  the  foot  of  the  lane  ?  "  said 
she,  with  mock-heroic  sadness.     "  Ah,  well !  good-bye  !  " 

"  You  know  perfectly,"  said  he,  relenting,  *'  that  I  am  anx- 
ious we  should  remain  friends.  And  what  is  the  use  of  your 
being  so  very — so  very — independent .''  " 

"  Then  I  am  to  go  down  to  the  foot  of  the  lane  t  "  said  she, 
with  charming  simplicity. 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  think  you  are  the  most  willful  creature 
I  ever  met.  But  you  will  get  cured  of  all  these  whims  and 
airs  of  yours  some  day." 

"  And  who  will  cure  me,  pray  t  "  said  she,  with  sweet  res- 
ignation, 

"  I  don't  know,  but  somebody  will  have  to  do  it." 

By  this  time  they  were  going  down  the  steep  lane ;  the 
young  green  of  the  hawthorn  hedge  on  each  side  of  them 
shining  in  the  clear  spring  sunlight ;  the  low-lying  meadows 
and  trees  of  Dulwich  far  below  them,  and  softened  over  with 
a  silver-gray  mist.  In  a  few  minutes  more  they  would  part  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill ;  but  there  was  no  great  premonitory  sad- 
ness on  her  frank,  young,  handsome  face. 

"  What  is  amusing  you  "i  "  said  he,  noticing  a  sort  of  demure 
laugh  under  the  beautiful  dark  eyelashes. 

"  Only  the  poor  invention  that  men  have,"  she  said.  "  You 
are  quite  cast  down  because  your  scheme  of  being  introduced 
to  Mr.  Drummond  won't  do.  Why,  a  woman  could  get  fifty 
schemes ! " 

"  Then,  give  me  one  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  am  only  a  girl.  Besides — how  often  must  I  tell  you  ? — 
it  is  not  my  place  to  do  so.  But  I  was  thinking  to-day  how 
easily  I  could  meet  you  if  I  liked — not  for  a  few  minutes,  but 
a  long  time — " 

"  Could  you  ?  "  said  he,  eagerly.  "  Could  you — could  you 
get  enough  time  to  come  for  a  long  walk>  or  a  drive  .?  " 

"  I  could  get  away  for  a  whole  day  !  "  she  said,  boldly  ;  but 
she  added,  quickly,  *'  if  I  wished  it." 

"  Then,  won't  you  wish  it  ?  "  said  he.  "  Look  what  a  splen- 
did drive  we  could  have  just  now — the  best  time  of  the  year; 
and  I  would  try  to  get  some  lady  I  know  to  come  for  you." 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  have  had  enough  of  in- 
troductions, and  relatives  and  friends,  and  asking  obligations. 
If  I  went  out  for  this  whole  day  it  would  be  to  show  them  how 
little  they  can  control  me  if  I  take  it  into  my  head  not  to  be 
controlled.     As  for  going  with  you,  I  think  I  would  rather  go 


42  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

with  any  body  else  ;  only  there  would  be  no  mischief  in  going 
with  any  body  else." 

The  declaration  was  frank,  but  not  eomplimentary :  the 
short  time  he  had  known  this  young  lady  had  been  enough 
to  make  him  wish  she  had  just  a  little  less  plainness  of  speech. 

"  Well,  will  you  do  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

*'  Yes,  I  think  I  will,"  she  answered,  with  a  sudden  firmness 
of  look.  She  had  to  recall  all  her  imaginary  wrongs  to  nerve 
her  for  this  decision. 

"When?" 

"  Next  Tuesday," 

."  And  where  shall  I  meet  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  must  drive  up  to  Miss  Main's  for  me,  and  come 
into  the  hall,  and  send  a  message." 

He  looked  so  horror-stricken  that  she  nearly  laughed  ;  but 
she  maintained  a  business-like  air. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  is  there  any  thing  more  simple  ?" 

"  Surely  you  are  joking  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Miss 
Main  would  allow  you  to  go  out  driving  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  what  is  more,  she  will  probably  offer  you  a 
glass  of  sherry  and  a  biscuit  before  leaving.  If  you  take  the 
sherry,  it  will  give  you  a  headache." 

"  But  I  don't  understand — " 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  said,  with  good-natured  indulgence. 
"  I  told  you  that  gentlemen  were  poor  in  invention.  But  you 
will  see  how  easily  I  can  arrange  all  this.  I  thought  of  it 
just  to  show  people  how  little  they  know  the  determination — 
but  I  needn't  speak  about  that.  Well,  here  we  are  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill ;  good-bye  !  " 

She  held  out  her  hand  carelessly. 

"  I  must  walk  back  with  you." 

''  No  ;  a  compact's  a  compact." 

"  Then  I  am  to  bring  a  carriage  for  you  next  Tuesday  morn- 
ing, and  come  right  up  to  the  door,  and  ask  for  Miss  North  ? 
Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Come  about  half-past  eleven." 

Mr.  George  Miller  walked  away  in  great  perplexity.  He 
had  a  notion  that  this  wild  girl  had  a  great  fondness  for 
practical  jokes.  Might  she  not  be  awaiting  him  at  the  win- 
dow, along  with  her  school-fellows,  to  receive  him  with  jeers  ? 

But,  then,  he  reflected,  she  was  not  likely  to  play  any  such 
too  notorious  prank  just  after  her  narrow  escape  from  expul- 
sion. He  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  safe  from  ridicule 
— which  is  always  a  young  man's  first  thought — and  then 
came  the  question  as  to  the  other  risks  he  ran.     This  was  no 


SUBTERRANEAN  FIRES.  43 

very  safe  project — to  take  a  school-girl  away  for  a  day's  drive, 
even  though  he  could  plead  that  she  had  made  at  least  one 
effort  to  introduce  him  to  her  friends,  and  that  he  had  made 
several  to  be  introduced.  On  the  other  hand,  was  he  to 
show  cowardice  where  a  girl  was  not  afraid  ?  He  would  have 
the  finest  pair  of  horses  he  could  hire  for  that  Tuesday  morn- 
ing ! 

As  for  her,  she  walked  lightly  and  briskly  up  the  hill — her 
fine  figure  giving  her  a  freeness  of  step  not  common  among 
school-girls — and  made  her  way  back  to  Miss  Main's  estab- 
lishment. That  patient  lady  took  it  for  granted  that  her  pu- 
pil had  been  round  at  Mr.  Drummond's  house. 

Violet  North  went  to  her  own  room,  sat  down,  and  wrote 
as  follows  : 

"  Camberwell  Grove,  Thursday  Evening. 
"  My  dear  Papa, — I  think  it  is  very  hard  that  your  own 
daughter  should  know  only  by  the  newspapers  of  your  return 
to  town.     Can  not  you  6ome  over  to  see  me  on  Saturday  ? 
And  my  money  is  nearly  all  gone. 

"  I  remain,  your  loving  daughter, 

"  Violet." 

Sir  Acton  North  was  an  exceedingly  busy  man,  who  had 
jnot  much  time  for  the  cultivation  of  his  domestic  duties;  but 
he  liked  this  wild  girl,  and  sometimes  considered  it  rather  a 
pity  she  should  have  no  home  but  a  boarding-school.  Busy 
as  he  was,  he  took  a  run  over  to  Camberwell  on  the  Satur- 
day morning,  and  had,  first  of  all,  a  few  minutes'  interview 
with  Miss  Main.  Miss  Main  treated  this  big,  broad-shoul- 
dered, white-bearded  man,  who  had  kindly  gray  eyes,  and 
something  of  a  Yorkshire  accent,  with  very  great  respect. 
Replying  to  his  inquiries  about  Violet's  conduct,  she  only  re- 
marked that  of  late  it  had  been  excellent ;  she  made  no  men- 
tion of  the  recent  disturbance.  She  was  more  anxious  to 
direct  Sir  Acton's  attention  to  the  brilliant  greens  of  the 
chestnuts,  elms,  and  lilacs  outside  ;  to  show  him  that  a  health- 
ier site  for  a  school  could  not  have  been  chosen. 

Then  Miss  Violet  came  into  the  room,  and  the  school-mis- 
tress retired. 

"  Well,  girl,"  said  her  father,  after  kissing  her,  "  aren't  you 
ever  going  to  stop  growing  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  plenty  of  time  to  grow  since  I  saw  you  last," 
she  said,  with  an  air  which  showed  her  father  that  she  had 
not,  at  least,  outgrown  her  cool  frankness. 


44 


MADCAP  VIOLET. 


"  And  what  do  you  want  with  me  ? " 

"  I  suppose  a  girl  must  wish  to  see  her  father  sometimes," 
she  remarked,  "  when  she  cannot  have  the  pleasure  of  admir- 
ing her  step-mother." 

"  Oh,  Vi,  Vi,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  which  was  not  calcu- 
lated to  repel  her  free  frankness,  "  you  are  as  wicked  as 
ever." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  forgotten  my  fondness  for  you,  papa," 
she  said,  honestly,  going  forward  and  putting  her  arm  round 
his  neck;  "so  you  must  tell  me  all  you've  been  doing,  and 
all  you're  going  to  do." 

"  That  will  be  too  long  a  story,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  must 
tell  you  this — that  before  long  I  must  go  to  Canada,  and  very 
likely  I  may  have  to  stop  nearly  a  year  there." 

Now  what  was  it — some  unnamable  fear,  some  flash  of  a 
better  instinct — which  suddenly  changed  the  expression  of 
the  girl's  face,  and  made  her  cry  out, 

"  Oh,  papa,  couldn't  you  take  me  with  you  ?  " 

"  For  a  year  ?  " 

"  For  twenty  years,  so  that  I  am  with  you.  I  hate  Eng- 
land so  ! " 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  child  !  "  he  said,  good-humoredly, 
and  releasing  his  neck  from  her  arm.  "  Of  course,  a  girl 
must  have  fits  of  dullness  at  school ;  you'll  get  over  these 
when  you  are  a  woman.  So  you  want  some  more  pocket- 
money  ?     Is  your  last  quarter's  allowance  run  out  already  ?  " 

She  would  not  answer — she  was  proud  and  hurt.  He  would 
treat  her  as  a  child ;  he  would  not  see  she  was  earnest  in 
that  sudden  cry  to  be  taken  away  from  England. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he  ;  "  put  this  in  your  pipe  and  smoke 
it,  Vi,"  and  he  gave  her  a  five-pound  note,  with  no  thought 
of  the  imprudence  of  trusting  such  a  sum  of  money  to  the  dis- 
cretion of  an  impetuous  school-girl. 

Somehow  a  change  had  come  over  the  manner  of  the  girl 
even  in  this  short  time.  She  had  met  him  with  that  gay,  de- 
fiant spirit  that  she  commonly  displayed  towards  persons 
whom  she  regarded  with  a  special  affection  ;  then  for  a  sec- 
ond or  two  she  seemed  to  approach  him  with  an  unusual 
yearning  of  sentiment.  Now  she  was  proud,  cold,  matter-of- 
fact. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "  will  you  excuse  me  for  a  moment  ?  I 
wish  to  speak  to  Miss  Main." 

She  left  the  room,  and  went  and  sought  out  Miss  Main. 
The  school-mistress  received  her  with  a  kindly  look  ;  she  was 
pleased  when  Sir  Acton  North  visited  the  school. 


SUB  TERRANEAJ^  FIRES.  45 

"  Oh,  Miss  Main,"  said  Violet,  in  an  off-hand  way,  "  can 
you  let  me  have  a  holiday  next  Tuesday?  " 

Now,  what  could  the  Lchool-mistress  possibly  think  of  such 
a  request  but  that  it  was  one  of  the  utmost  innocence,  which 
she  was  bound  to  accede  to  ?  Here  was  a  girl  visited  by  her 
father,  who  rarely  came  to  town.  What  more  natural  than 
that  he  should  propose  to  take  the  girl  away  for  a  day  ? 

"Certainly,  Miss  North,"  said  the  school-mistress.  "I 
suppose  your  papa  will  send  for  you  .'*  " 

"  I  think  it  is  very  likely  Mr.  George  Miller  will  call  for 
me,"  said  Miss  North,  with  a  business-like  air.  "  Of  course 
you  know  Mr.  George  Miller,  Miss  Main  ?  " 

"  By  reputation,  undoubtedly.  I  wish  there  were  more  such 
as  he  in  London." 

"  Well,  they  live  not  far  from  here  ;  so  it  is  very  likely  he 
will  be  good  enough  to  call  for  me.  May  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  introducing  him  to  you.  Miss  Main  ? " 

"  I  should  consider  it  an  honor,  Miss  Violet,"  said  the  sim- 
ple-minded school-mistress  ;  and  Miss  North  knew  she  was 
in  high  favor  when  she  was  called  Miss  Violet. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Miss  Violet ;  and  she  was 
going  back  to  her  father,  when  she  suddenly  turned.  "  Oh, 
Miss  Main,  my  papa  has  just  given  me  some  money  ;  and  I 
do  think  the  feather  in  my  hat  is  getting  a  little  shabby. 
Would  you  allow  Elizabeth  to  go  down  with  me  to  the  shops 
on  Monday  forenoon  ?     I  wish  to  buy  a  few  things." 

"  I  will  go  down  with  you  myself,"  said  Miss  Main,  gra- 
ciously. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  so  kind  of  you  !  " 

"  Well,  girl,  what  do  you  mean  by  keeping  me  here  ? " 
said  her  father  when  she  returned.  "Do  you  know  I  have 
to  be  at  King's  Cross  by  two  o'clock  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said.     "  Must  you  go  now  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  good-bye,  child.  Mind  you  write  to  me  when  you 
want  more  money." 

She  kissed  him,  and  bid  him  good-bye. 

"  I  will  see  you  out,  papa.  Don't  ask  Miss  Main  to  come  : 
she  is  busy.     Shall  I  see  you  before  you  go  to  Canada  ? " 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  of  course  !  Ta-ta  !  Mind  you  be- 
have yourself,  Vi  ;  and  let  me  know  when  your  pocket-money 
runs  out." 

After  he  had  gone,  his  daughter  had  to  return  to  her  classes 
and  lessons  ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  evening  she  found  herself 
with  a  little  spare  time  on  her  hands.  She  felt  unequal  at 
the  moment  to  continue  her  novel,  for  the  details  of  the  dark 


46  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

plot  that  had  been  invented  by  Virginia  Northbrook  wanted 
deep  consideration.  But  she  had  something  on  her  mind  ; 
and  she  came  to  the  resolution  to  put  that  down  on  paper, 
and  subsequently  to  slip  it  into  the  story  whenever  she  got  a 
chance.  Here  is  the  passage  in  question,  written  with  some 
appearance  of  haste  : 

"  Virginia  Northbrook  hated  deception ;  she  positively 
loathed  and  abominated  it.  The  present  writer  has  never 
in  all  his  life  met  with  a  human  being  who  was  as  anxious  as 
this  girl  to  have  a  clear  and  shining  candor  illuminating  her 
soul.  And  why  ?  gentle  reader ;  because  she  had  inherited 
a  heritage  of  pride — a  fatal  legacy,  perhaps,  but  it  was  hers  ; 
and  her  ambition  was  to  be  able  to  look  any  one  in  the  face 
and  say  what  she  thought  without  concealment.  Alas  !  v.e 
now  find  her  compelled  to  stoop  to  subterfuges.  Happiness 
had  gone  from  her  mind  ;  horrid  suspicion  had  built  its  nest 
there  ;  the  cold  indifference  of  the  world  had  stung  her  into 
a  passion  of  revenge.  What  wrecked  she  of  the  mad  course 
she  was  pursuing,  when,  with  a  shout  of  demonical  laughter, 
she  called  out  aloud  in  her  own  room,  '  Vive  la  bagatelle  ? ' 
Let  us  withdraw  for  a  time  from  this  sad  scene.  The  day 
may  come  when  we  may  behold  our  heroine  rescued  from  the 
unjust  tyranny  of  heartless  friends,  and  the  honorableness  of 
her  heart's  thoughts  demonstrated  to  the  light  of  day.  But 
in  the  mean  time — alas,  poor  worm  !  " 

Violet  North  was  so  much  affected  by  the  sorrows  of  her 
heroine  that  she  was  almost  like  to  cry  over  them ;  although, 
oddly  enough,  her  sentimental  grief  seemed  to  wander  back 
to  her  father's  refusal  to  take  her  with  him  to  Canada. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CRABBED   AGE   AND    YOUTH. 

"  Sarah,  we  must  not  leave  that  girl  to  herself,"  said  James 
Drummond  to  his  sister.  He  had  put  aside  his  wide-awake, 
and  was  engaged  in  brushing  a  far  from  shiny  hat.  *'  She  is 
offended  with  us  ;  she  has  not  been  here  for  some  days.  We 
shall  incur  a  great  responsibility  if  we  let  her  go  her  own  way." 

"We  shall  incur  a  great  responsibility  if  we  interfere,"  said 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH.  47 

his  sister,  and  then  she  rebuked  herself  for  the  selfishness  of 
her  speech.  "  Yes,  I  must  go  down  to  the  school  and  see  her. 
I  am  sure  I  wish  she  would  go  into  some  convent,  or  some 
institution  of  that  kind,  where  she  would  be  under  gentle 
moral  teaching  and  proper  discipline.  She  is  untamed — a 
wild  animal  almost — with  some  fine  qualities  in  her ;  and  yet 
I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  her." 

"  A  convent !  "  said  Drummond,  with  a  loud  laugh.  "  She 
would  turn  the  place  into  a  pandemonium  in  a  week.  To 
think  of  it  now  !  " — wouldn't  it  be  delightful  t  Violet  North 
in  a  convent?  Fancy  the  scare  of  the  quiet  creatures  when 
they  discovered  they  had  among  them  a  whole  legion  of 
demons — as  many  as  you  see  in  "  St.  Anthony's  Temptation  : "' 
I  should  like  to  have  a  peep  into  that  convent  occasionally  if 
she  were  there.  Well,  you'll  go  down  to  her,  Sarah.  Don't 
preach  at  her :  rather  tell  her  not  to  make  a  fool  of  herself. 
Of  course,  she  is  only  hurt  and  proud;  she  can  not  really  care 
for  this  young — what's  his  name  ?  " 

"George  Miller." 

"And  yet  don't  lecture  her  about  the  folly  of  a  young  girl 
falling  in  love,  or  the  danger  of  it,  and  all  that.  She  won't 
believe  you — no  girl  will.  You  might  as  well  expect  to  keep 
servants  away  from  the  sherry  decanter  by  sticking  a  Poison 
label  on  it.  Don't  try  to  frighten  her ;  for  there  is  nothing 
that  girl  will  allow  to  frighten  her." 

Mr.  Drummond  put  on  his  carefully  brushed  but  not  bril- 
liant hat,  and  went  out  into  the  warm  sunlight  of  this  May 
morning.  From  the  height  on  which  he  stood  he  could  see, 
in  the  far  distance,  a  low-lying  mist  of  brown.  That  was  the 
smoke  of  London  City,  into  which  he  was  about  to  plunge — 
with  no  good  grace. 

And  yet  when  his  old  college-chum  Harding,  who  had  for- 
saken the  paths  of  learning  and  taken  to  tasting  teas  as  a  more 
profitable  pursuit,  happened  to  beg  of  him  to  come  into  the 
City  and  have  lunch  with  him,  he  rarely  refused.  Harding 
lived  in  some  remote  corner  of  Hornsey;  so  the  two  friends 
had  but  seldom  an  opportunity  of  seeing  each  other  in  the 
evening.  On  this  last  occasion  Harding  had  been  specially 
urgent  in  his  invitation — "A  friend  of  mine  wants  to  be 
introduced  to  you,"  he  had  added. 

Drummond  called  at  the  office  in  Mincing  Lane,  and  his 
short,  stout,  brown-bearded  friend  put  on  his  hat  and  came 
out. 

"  Who  is  the  man  ? "  said  Drummond,  carelessly,  as  they 
went  along. 


48  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Who  wants  to  be  introduced  to  you  ?  Oh,  a  young  fellow 
called  Miller." 

'•''  George  Miller  ?  "  said  Drummond,  suddenly  stopping  on 
the  pavement,  with  a  frown  of  vexation  coming  over  his  face. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  him  ? "  said  Harding, 
with  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Did  he  tell  you  why  he  wished  to  be  introduced 
to  me  ? " 

"  No,  he  didn't." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,  Harding,  it's — it's  d — d  impertinent 
of  this  fellow — " 

"My  dear  boy,  what's  the  matter.?  You  do  know  him  ? 
If  you  don't  want  to  meet  him,  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should.  We  can  have  lunch  elsewhere.  Pie  asked  me  in  a 
off-hand  way  if  I  knew  you — asked  to  be  introduced,  and  so 
forth.     But  there  is  no  compulsion." 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Drummond, 
with  sudden  determination. 

"  I  tell  you,  man,  there  is  no  compulsion.  Let's  go  else- 
where." 

"  No,  I  want  to  be  introduced  to  him." 

"  All  right :  the  same  as  ever — flying  round  like  a  weather- 
cock, jumping  about  like  quicksilver." 

They  went  intc5  a  spacious  restaurant,  where  a  large  num- 
ber of  men,  mostly  with  their  hats  on,  were  attacking  large 
platefuls  of  rather  wateiy  beef  and  mutton.  Harding  was 
known  to  many  of  them;  as  he  passed  he  encountered  a  run- 
ning fire  of  pleasantries,  which  he  returned  in  kind.  This  was 
an  ordeal  which  Drummond,  who  had  frequently  been  with  his 
friend  to  the  place,  regarded  with  a  mild  wonder.  There 
was  no  one  more  ready  for  fun,  for  raillery,  for  sarcasm  even 
of  a  friendly  sort;  but  this  sort  of  ghastly  wit,  with  no  light 
or  life  in  it,  but  only  a  crackling  of  dry  bones,  rather  puzzled 
him.  Then  he  noticed  that  his  friend  was  a  trifle  embar- 
rassed in  replying  to  it ;  apparently  Harding  had  not  got 
quite  acclimatized  in  the  City.  There  was  neither  humor, 
nor  drollery,  nor  epigram  in  this  sort  of  banter;  but  only  a 
trick  of  inversion,  by  which  a  man  expressed  his  meaning  by 
saying  something  directly  the  opposite — a  patter,  indeed,  not 
much  more  intellectual  than  the  jabbering  of  inarticulate 
apes.  It  should  be  added,  however,  that  the  young  men  were 
very  young  men. 

"  Miller  hasn't  come  yet,"  said  Harding.  "  What  is  the 
matter  between  you  two  ?  " 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH.  49 

"  Nothing  :  I  never  saw  him.  But  I  know  why  he  wants 
to  be  introduced  to  me.     What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  he  is  a  nice  enough  young  fellow,  who  has,  unfor- 
tunately, got  too  much  money  in  prospect,  and  consequently 
does  nothing.  But  now,  I  believe,  he  is  going  into  business 
— his  father  means  to  buy  him  a  partnership." 

"  But — but — what  sort  of  a  fellow  is  he  ?  "  said  Drummond, 
who  had  no  interest  in  the  young  man's  commercial  pros- 
pects. 

"  Well,  he  is  fairly  educated,  as  things  go — much  better  edu- 
cated than  the  idle  sons  of  rich  business  men  ordinarily  are. 
He  sometimes  rather  gives  himself  airs,  as  to  his  gentlemanly 
appearance  and  instincts,  and  so  forth,  if  strangers  are  too 
familiar  with  him  in  the  billiard-room  up-stairs,  where  they 
generally  have  an  afternoon  pool  going  on.  He  is  inclined 
to  look  down  on  us  poor  devils  who  are  in  commerce ;  but 
that  is  natural  in  the  son  of  a  business  man.  He  is  free  with 
his  money — that  is  to  say,  he  would  give  you  a  gorgeous  ban- 
quet if  he  asked  you  to  dinner  ;  but  it  would  take  a  clever 
fellow  to  sharp  him  out  of  a  sixpence  ;  and  you  don't  catch  him 
lending  sovereigns  to  those  hangers-on  about  billiard-rooms, 
who  are  always  ready  to  borrow,  and  never  remember  to  pay. 
I  think,  on  the  whole,  he  is  a  good  sort  of  a  fellow.  I  rather 
like  him.  You  see  he  is  very  young :  and  you  can  put  up 
with  a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  crude  opinion,  and  self-esteem, 
and  all  that,  from  a  young  man.  ...  I  suppose  other 
people  had  a  good  deal  to  stand  at  our  hands  when  we  were 
of  the  same  age." 

"  You  don't  think  he  would  do  any  thing  mean  or  dishon- 
orable ? " 

"  I  think  his  own  good  opinion  of  himself  would  guard 
against  that,"  said  Harding  with  a  laugh.  "  Self-esteem,  and 
not  any  very  high  notion  of  morality,  keeps  many  a  man  from 
picking  a  pocket." 

"  And  he  does  nothing  at  all  ?  He  has  no  particular  occu- 
pation or  hobby  ? " 

''  No  ;  I  think  he  is  an  idle,  careless,  good-natured  sort  of 
fellow.  Not  at  all  a  fool,  you  know — very  shrewd  and  keen. 
But  what  in  the  world  are  you  so  anxious  to  know  all  about 
George  Miller  for  1 " 

Drummond  did  not  answer ;  he  seemed  to  have  encoun- 
tered some  difficulty  in  the  cutlet  that  was  before  him.  At 
length  he  said,  without  raising  his  eyes  from  the  plate,  and 
just  as  if  he  were  naturally  continuing  the  conversation, 

"  Well,  Harding,  I  was  thinking  the  most  miserable  people 
4 


50  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

in  this  country  are  the  lads  and  young  men  who  are  devoured 
by  ambition  :  there  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  them,  all 
hungering  for  the  appreciation  of  the  public,  all  anxious  to 
have  their  stupendous  abilities  recognized  at  once.  They  can 
not  rest  until  their  book  is  published  ;  until  they  have  been 
allowed  to  play  Hamlet  in  a  London  theatre  ;  until  they  have 
had  a  chance  of  convincing  a  jury,  and  astonishing  a  judge. 
By  Jove  !  if  they  only  knew,  wouldn't  they  be  thankful  for 
the  obstacles  that  prevent  their  making  fools  of  themselves  ! 
When  they  do  rush  into  print  prematurely,  or  get  all  their 
friends  to  witness  their  failure  on  the  stage,  what  do  they  do 
but  lay  up  in  their  memory  something  that  will  give  them 
many  a  cold  bath  in  after-days  !  But  I  wonder  which  you 
should  admire  the  more — the  young  fellow  who  is  tortured 
with  ambition,  and  would  make  a  fool  of  himself  if  he  were 
allowed  ;  or  the  young  fellow  who  is  much  more  sensible — 
probably  from  a  lack  of  imagination — and  lives  a  happy  and- 
free-and-easy  life  ?  That  is  your  friend  Miller's  case,  isn't  it  ? 
Now,  don't  you  think  that  the  young  man  who — " 

There  is  no  saying  whither  this  speculation  might  not  have 
led,  had  not  Mr.  Drummond  been  interrupted  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Mr.  Miller  himself.  Mr.  Drummond's  quick,  brilliant, 
observant  eyes  were  instantly  directed  to  the  young  man's  face. 
It  was  a  refined  and  handsome  face.  There  was  something 
pleasing  in  the  modest  blush  which  accompanied  the  simple 
ceremony  of  introduction.  So  far,  the  first  impression  was 
distinctly  favorable ;  but  Drummond  remained  silent,  grave, 
and  watchful,  while  the  younger  man  chatted  to  Harding,  and 
explained  the  reasons  for  his  being  late. 

Then  young  Miller  turned  to  Drummond,  and  rather  tim- 
idly began  to  talk  to  him.  As  Drummond  was  never  known 
to  remain  in  the  same  mood  for  five  minutes  at  a  time,  he  was 
least  of  all  likely  to  do  so  when  that  mood  was  one  of  cautious 
and  critical  severity ;  so  that  almost  directly  Harding  saw 
him,  in  response  to  some  chance  and  modest  remark  of  the 
young  man,  suddenly  brighten  up  into  a  laugh,  while  he  re- 
torted with  a  joke.  Mr.  Miller  was,  indeed,  relating  some 
stories  he  had  heard  as  to  the  tricks  of  the  manufacturers  of 
spurious  wines — a  subject  on  which  he  seemed  to  have  ac- 
quired some  knowledge.  He  went  on  to  make  a  few  remarks 
on  the  constituents  of  this  or  that  wine — remarks  diffidently 
made,  but  obviously  based  on  accurate  information.  His 
talk  interested  Drummond,  who  by-the-way,  was  profoundly 
ignorant  on  the  matter.  He  neither  knew  nor  particularly 
cared  how  a  wine  was  produced,  so  long  as  it  was  pleasant 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH. 


SI 


and  wholesome.  If  it  was  pleasant  and  proved  to  be  whole- 
some, he  drank  it ;  if  not,  he  left  it  alone.  He  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  inquiring  into  the  constituents  of  this  or  any- 
other  wine  as  he  would  of  inquiring  into  the  application  of 
the  money  he  paid  in  taxes.  He  never  knew  for  what  pur- 
poses he  was  taxed,  or  who  taxed  him  ;  but  he  paid  the  money, 
and  was  glad  to  be  relieved  from  responsibility.  He  lacked 
the  parochial  mind  altogether ;  but  he  was  altogether  grateful 
to  the  vestries,  or  boards  of  guardians,  or  whatever  other  and 
occult  bodies  took  upon  themselves  the  task  of  local  govern- 
ment. 

Now,  the  great  respect  markedly  paid  him  by  young  Mil- 
ler rather  flattered  Mr.  Drummond,  who  began  to  be  inter- 
ested in  the  young  man.  Moreover,  was  he  not  in  a  position 
of  advantage  ?  He  knew  Miller's  secret  aim  ;  Miller  did  not 
know  that  he  knew  it ;  if  there  was  any  thing  suspicious  or 
underhand  about  the  young  man,  he  would  have  an  excellent 
opportunity  of  finding  it  out.  He  was,  on  the  whole,  glad 
that  he  had  resolved  to  come  to  the  luncheon  ;  he  would  not 
allow  the  young  man  to  make  use  of  the  acquaintance  unless 
he  considered  that  advisable ;  while  he  was  now  in  a  better 
position  to  aid  and  counsel  Violet  North. 

After  luncheon  they  went  up  for  a  brief  period  to  the  smok- 
ing-room ;  and  then  Harding  had  to  go  back  to  his  office. 

"Mr.  Drummond,"  said  George  Miller,  rather  shyly,  "  I  be- 
lieve you  live  over  Denmark  Hill  way  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  Camberwell  Grove,"  said  the  elder  man,  amusing 
himself  by  watching  the  artless  tricks  of  his  companion's  di- 
plomacy. 

"  I  live  at  Sydenham  Hill.  I — I  was  thinking — you  know 
you  were  speaking  of  old  books — well,  my  father  has  what 
is  said  to  be  a  very  good  collection — it  was  left  him  by  a 
friend  who  went  to  India  some  years  ago.  Now,  if  you  have 
nothing  better  to  do,  would  you — would  you — come  out  with 
me  now  and  have  a  look  at  them  ?  You  might  stay  and  have 
a  bit  of  dinner  with  me  too.  Unfortunately  our  people  are 
all  down  at  the  Isle  of  Wight  just  now  ;  but  the  servants  will 
get  us  something.     I — I  wish  you  would." 

Mr.  Drummond  could  have  smiled.  The  poor  young  man  ! 
— he  was  working  away  at  his  little  plot,  unconscious  how  the 
master-mind  beside  him  was  looking  down  on  all  its  innocent 
involutions.     Pie  would  humor  the  youth. 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  be  very  glad.  Only  I  must 
send  a  telegram  to  my  sister." 

So  these  two  oddly  consorted  people  went  away  down  to 


52  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Sydenham  to  the  big,  gorgeous,  solemn,  and  empty  house ; 
and  young  Miller  was  as  anxious  for  his  guest's  comfort  as  if  he 
had  been  an  emperor.  And  how  respectfully,  too,  he  listened 
to  the  elder  man's  monologues  and  jerky  witticisms,  and 
chance  remarks  suggested  by  the  various  volumes.  Much  of 
it  all  w^as  quite  incomprehensible  to  him  ;  but  he  did  not 
cease  to  listen  with  great  attention.  Drummond  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  Mr.  Miller  was  a  very  ignorant  young  man, 
but  decidedly  intelligent,  and  laudably  anxious  to  be  in- 
structed.    Never  had  any  prophet  so  humble  a  disciple. 

He  staid  to  dinner  too,  and  accepted  with  an  amused  con- 
descension the  young  man's  apologies  for  a  banquet  which  was 
certainly  varied  and  abundant  enough.  None  of  the  wines 
seemed  sufficiently  good  for  so  distinguished  a  visitor.  The 
youthful  host  bitterly  regretted  he  had  not  a  better  cigar  to 
offer  Mr.  Drummond — the  fact  is,  the  box  he  produced  had 
only  cost  7/.  \os,  the  hundred.  They  went  out  on  the  terrace 
to  smoke,  and  sat  down  in  easy-chairs,  among  fragrant  bushes, 
under  a  clear,  starlit  sky.  If  the  young  man  had  any  prayer 
or  petition  to  present,  was  not  this  a  favorable  opportunity  t 

"  I  suppose  those  lights  over  there,"  said  George  Miller, 
looking  across  the  black  valley  to  a  low  hill  where  there  were 
some  points  of  yellow  fire,  "  are  about  where  you  live  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Drummond. 

"  I — I  happen  to  know  a  neighbor  of  yours." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  his  wily  companion,  with  an  apparent 
indifference,  though  he  knew  what  the  young  man  was  after. 

"  At  least  not  quite  a  neighbor,  but  a  young  lady  at  a 
boarding-school.  I — I  believe  you  know  something  of  her — 
Miss  North  is  her  name — " 

"  Oh  yes,  we  know  her,"  said  Drummond,  carelessly. 

"  Yes,  said  the  other,  with  greater  embarrassnient,  "  so — so 
I  have  heard." 

"  You  know  her  father,  of  course  ?  "  said  Mr.  Drummond, 
lightly — which  was  certainly  not  the  remark  that  might  have 
been  expected  to  follow  such  a  good  dinner,  such  a  good  cigar, 
and  so  great  an  amount  of  attention. 

"  N-no,  not  exactly." 

"  Her  friends,  then  .?  " 

Young  Miller  got  out  of  his  embarrassment  by  a  bold 
plunge. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Drummond,  I  made  her  ac- 
quaintance in  a  curious  way,  and  I  have  been  anxious  to  get 
somebody  who  would  do  all  the  formal  and  society  business 
of  introducing  us,  don't  you  know  ;  for  she  is  a  very  nice  girl 


CRABBED  AGE  AND  YOUTH.  53 

indeed,  and  one  likes  to  know  such  a  sensible,  such  a  frank, 
good-natured — " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Drummond,  apparently  making  a  great 
discovery,  "  so  you  got  Harding  to  ask  me  to  go  into  the 
City  ;  and  so  3^ou  have  asked  me  to  come  out  here  ?  " 

There  was  no  anger  or  impatience  in  his  tone  ;  he  seemed 
only  asking  for  information.  The  night  concealed  the  color 
that  had  fired  up  into  the  younger  man's  face. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  it  was  impertinent  of  me,"  said 
he.  "1  am  delighted  to  have  made  your  acquaintance  in 
any  case — I  hope  you  will  believe  that.  I  thought  Miss 
North  had  probably  mentioned  my  name  to  you." 

He  made  no  answer  to  that ;  he  said  it  was  a  beautiful  cool 
night,  and  rose  to  stretch  his  legs. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  stamniered  young  Miller,  I  thought 
that — that  if  you  and  I  became  friendly,  I  might  have  an  op- 
portunity, sometime  or  other,  of  being  introduced  to  her  un- 
der your  roof." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  cooll}'.  "And  with 
what  purpose  ?  " 

"  Well,  one  wishes  to  have  a  pleasant  acquaintance — that 
is  natural." 

"  I  see,"  said  Drummond,  carefully  breaking  the  white  ash 
off  his  cigar." 

George  Miller  waited  for  a  second  or  two  ;  surely  this  was 
a  most  unsatisfactory  answer. 

"  You  have  not  yet  said — " 

"  Oh — whether  I  would  ask  you  to  meet  Miss  North  at  my 
house  ?  Well,  I  see  no  harm  in  that.  You  only  wish  to 
make  her  acquaintance  ;  there  is  no  harm  in  that.  But — but 
I  will  see  about  it." 

"  Oh,  thank  you." 

Not  very  long  after  that  Mr.  Drummond  took  his  leave, 
declining  at  the  last  moment  half  a  dozen  cigars  as  big  as 
walking-sticks  which  George  Miller  declared  to  be  necessary 
to  his  comfort  on  the  way  home.  When  he  reached  Camber- 
well  Grove  he  said  to  his  sister, 

"  Did  you  see  Violet  North  this  afternoon  ? " 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  the  Kennaways  came  over  and  stopped 
the  whole  day  with  me." 

"  Don't  go  just  yet,  then.  We  must  consider.  I  have  met 
that  young  Miller,  and  a  very  decent  young  fellow  he  is,  but 
much  too  young  to  be  allowed  to  flirt  with  Violet  North. 
Now,  if  they  were  allowed  to  see  each  other  occasionally,  she 
is  a  shrewd  enough  girl  to  find  out  that  he  is  rather  a  com- 


54  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

monplace  young  man  ;  and  I  think  we  ought  to  let  them 
meet  here." 

"  Oh,  James,  how  dangerous  !  "  cried  his  sister.  "  Only 
think  what  we  may  be  accused  of  !  Violet  North  will  have 
money." 

"  That  young  fellow  will  have  twenty  times  as  much.  How- 
ever, I  am  sure  the  question  will  never  arise.  We  will  talk 
about  this  thing  to-morrow." 

Now  "  to-morrow  "  was  Tuesday — that  Tuesday  on  which 
Violet  North  had  determined  to'put  the  whole  world  to  defiance. 

"  Just  my  luck ! "  said  young  Miller  to  himself  after  Mr. 
Drummoncl  had  gone  ;  confound  it !  why  was  she  in  such  a 
hurry  1  He  would  be  willing  to  have  us  meet  as  friends  at 
his  house — that  is  quite  certain — and  every  thing  would  go 
smoothly  enough ;  and  now  comes  this  pretty  adventure  of 
taking  her  av.-ay  to  Hampton,  and  there's  no  escape  from 
that  now.  And  a  very  nice  mess  we  are  likely  to  get  into,  if 
anybody  sees  us  or  finds  it  out,  as  somebody  is  sure  to  do." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  SUMMER  day's  RIDE. 

The  eventful  morning  arrived,  and  at  an  early  hour  Violet 
North  went  to  the  window  of  her  small  room,  and  with  rather 
an  anxious  heart,  drew  up  the  blind.  Behold  !  all  around 
her  and  beneath  her  a  world  of  green  foliage,  lighted  up  by 
the  early  sunshine  ;  a  million  flashing  diamonds  of  light  on 
the  glossy  ivy  leaves  of  the  old  red  wall ;  black  shadows  from 
the  broad  laurel  bushes  falling  on  the  brown  earth  below ; 
the  white  and  purple  lilacs,  the  tremulous  yellow  blossoms  of 
the  laburnum,  the  upright,  cream-hued  minarets  of  the  ches- 
nut-trees,  all  basking  in  the  sun  ;  and  two  tall  poplars,  rust- 
ling their  leaves  in  the  light  wind,  leading  the  eye  up  to  the 
wonderful  expanse  of  clear  blue  above,  where  there  was  not 
even  a  white  flake  of  cloud.     She  was  satisfied. 

She  heard  some  one  passing  her  door ;  she  v/ent  to  it  hur- 
riedly, and  one  of  the  servants  turned  on  the  stair  and  re- 
garded her. 

"  Elizabeth,"  said  she,  "  here  is  a  shilling  for  you  ;  and 
you  must  at  once  run  away  down  to  Camberwell,  and  go  to 
Mrs.  Cooke's,  the  milliner,  and  don't  you  come  away  until 


A  SUMMER  DA  Y'S  RIDE.  55 

you've  got  my  hat,  clone  or  undone.  Now,  do  you  understand, 
Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  Lor,  miss,  they  was  to  send  it  up  at  eight  o'clock,  and  it 
is  only  half-past  seven  yet." 

"  But  I  am  sure  they  won't  send  it.  Don't  waste  time, 
Elizabeth,  but  go  and  do  as  I  tell  you;  and  don't  be  argued 
out  of  the  shop." 

When  the  two  or  three  boarders  came  down  to  breakfast, 
they  all  knew  that  Violet  North  was  going  away  for  a  holiday, 
and  they  were  all  anxious  to  see  her  costume.  She  was  con- 
tinually surprising  them  in  that  matter,  for  she  had  some  skill 
in  dressing  herself,  and  yet  many  a  poor  girl  who  faithfully 
copied  this  glass  of  fashion,  could  not  understand  how  these 
costumes  seemed  to  suit  no  one  as  well  as  they  suited  Violet 
North.  They  could  not  even  say  that  it  was  the  larger 
pocket-money  of  a  baronet's  daughter  which  gave  her  greater 
latitude  in  adorning  herself ,  for  her  dresses  were  devoid  of 
every  sort  of  ornament.  They  were  the  simplest  of  the  sim- 
ple ;  no  tawdry  flounces  or  eye-distracting  bunches  of  rib- 
bons :  their  only  peculiarity  was  the  studied  tightness  of  their 
sleeves.  But  that  which  made  Miss  North's  dresses  seem  to 
fit  so  gracefully  was  something  outside  and  beyond  the  dress- 
maker's art :  the  workmanship  not  of  any  man  or  woman 
milliner,  but  of  God. 

She  was  in  capital  spirits.  Anxious  ?  Not  a  bit.  There 
was  more  anxiety  in  the  breast  of  a  young  man  who,  at  that 
moment,  was  coming  along  the  Dulwich  road  in  a  carriage 
drawn  by  a  ])air  of  fine  grays.  He  almost  looked  as  if  he 
were  going  to  a  wedding. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Main,"  said  Violet  North,  going  calmly  to  the 
window,  -'here  is  the  carriage;  and  I  see  it  is  young  Mr. 
Miller  who  has  come  for  me.  I  would  rather  have  intro- 
duced the  father  to  you  ;  but  as  it  is,  will  you  come  down 
and  see  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Main,  graciously. 

The  young  man  stood,  hat  in  hand,  in  the  parlor;  and,  if 
the  truth  must  be  told,  with  his  heart  for  the  moment  throb- 
bing rather  quickly.  He  looked  from  the  school-mistress  to 
Violet  North  as  they  both  entered ;  the  young  lady  was  com- 
posed, smiling,  and  courteous. 

"Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Miller  to  you.  Miss  Main,"  said 
she.  "Your  father  is  very  well  known,  by  reputation,  to 
Miss  Main,  Mr.  Miller  ;  and  she  almost  expected  him  to  come 
for  me  this  morning.  But  I  suppose  he  had  some  other  en- 
gagement." 


S6  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Y-yes,"  stammered  the  young  man  ;  and  then  he  added, 
hastily,  "  Are  you  ready  to  go  now,  Miss  North  ? " 

He  was  desperately  anxious  to  get  out  of  the  house  ;  he 
knew  not  at  what  moment  he  might  make  a  blunder.  That 
there  was  some  mystification  about  was  evident  from  Miss 
Main's  innocent  helplessness  in  the  matter. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Main,"  said  Miss  North  ;  "  I  dare  say 
I  shall  be  back  about  six." 

When  she  stepped  out  into  the  sunlight,  and  saw  the  two 
gray  horses  before  her  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  smiling 
— it  was  very  like  a  runaway  marriage.  And  so  thought  the 
girls  upstairs,  who  were  all  at  the  window ;  and  who,  when 
they  saw  the  young  lady  in  gray  and  dark-brown  velvet — ■ 
with  her  gray  hat  now  adorned  with  a  bold  white  feather — 
handed  into  the  carriage,  could  not  help  admitting  that  a 
handsomer  bride  had  never  been  taken  to  church.  And  was 
not  he  handsome,  too — the  slender,  square-shouldered  young 
man,  with  the  straight  nostrils  and  finely  cut  mouth.?  They 
drove  away  in  the  clear  sunshine  ;  and  the  girls  were  of 
opinion  that,  if  it  were  not  a  marriage,  it  ought  to  have  been. 

George  Miller  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief :  he  had  not 
been  at  all  comfortable  while  in  that  room. 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ? "  said  he. 

"Oh,"  said  she,  with  a  revengeful  triumph  in  her  manner 
that  he  did  not  quite  understand,  "  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  !  That  dear  good  school-mistress  thinks  we  are  going 
to  some  flower-show  or  other,  where  your  father,  and  my  fa- 
ther, and  every  body  else's  father,  are  all  to  be  together. 
Coachman ! " 

The  man  turned  round. 

"  Would  you  please  go  through  this  lane  and  up  Grove 
Hill  ?  "  She  did  not  wish  to  pass  in  front  of  Mr.  Drummond's 
house. 

"  And  did  you  tell  her  all  that  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Not  1.  She  inferred  it  all  for  herself.  But  never  mind 
that.  Isn't  it  fine  to  be  off  for  a  holiday  ? — and  what  a  holi- 
day, too !     I  never  saw  this  place  looking  so  lovely." 

They  were  driving  along  the  crest  of  Champion  Hill  ;  and  as 
there  was  a  bank  of  black  cloud  all  along  the  southern  sky, 
against  this  dark  background  the  wonderful  light  greens  of 
the  spring  foliage  seemed  to  be  interfused  with  a  lambent  sun- 
shine. Here  were  young  lime-trees,  with  slender  and  jet- 
black  branches ;  tall  and  swaying  poplars ;  branching  and 
picturesque  elms ;'  massive  chestnuts  and  feathery  birches ; 
and  now  and  again^  looking  into  a  bit  of  wood,  they  saw  a 


A  SUMMER  DA  Y'S  RIDE.  57 

Strange  green  twilight  produced  by  the  sun  beating  on  the 
canopy  of  foliage  above.  It  was  a  spring-day  in  look — the 
heavy  purple  in  the  south,  the  clear  blue  above,  with  glimpses 
through  the  lofty  elms  of  sailing  white  clouds  blown  along  by 
a  western  breeze. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  said  she,  though,  in  point  of  fact, 
she  did  not  care  much.  It  was  enough  to  be  out  in  freedom, 
in  the  cool  air  and  the  clear  sunshine. 

"I  thought  of  Hampton,"  said  he,  timidly.  "The  river  is 
pretty  there,  and  we  must  have  luncheon." 

"  Are  there  not  a  good  many  Cockneys  there  ?  "  said  she> 
with  an  air  of  lofty  criticism.  "  Don't  they  call  it  '  Appy 
'  Ampton  .^ '  " 

"  You'll  scarcely  find  any  body  there  on  a  Tuesday,"  said 
he. 

"  Ah,  you  thought  of  that  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Thank  you." 

She  was  quite  gracious ;  but  somehow  he  was  never  sure 
that  she  was  not  joking.  Was  it  not  with  some  hidden  sar- 
casm that  this  school-girl  said  "  Thank  you,"  with  the  high 
courtesy  of  an  empress  .'* 

Suddenly  she  burst  out  laughing ;  and  then  he  knew  she 
was  natural  enough. 

"  If  Miss  Main  should  hear  of  this,"  she  cried,  "  I  do 
think  she'll  have  a  fit !  It  wdll  be  worth  all  the  money  to  see 
her !  " 

"I  don't  see  any  thing  to  laugh  at  in  it,"  said  he,  "for,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  your  going  on 
in  this  way." 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"Tell  the  man  to  stop,"  said  she,  with  sudden  decision. 
"  I  don't  see  the  necessity,  either,  of  our  going  on  like  this. 
I  have  had  eipugh  of  the  driving,  and  I  can  walk  back." 

"  Now  please  don't  be  foolish,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Why  won't  you  wait  until  I  explain  1  I  said  it  was  un- 
necessary, for  there  is  no  longer  any  reason  why  we  should 
not  meet  each  other  just  as  ordinary  people  do.  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  dined  with  me  last  night." 

The  announcement  did  not  startle  her  as  he  had  expected. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  she. 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  risking  trouble  ?  " 

"  They  goaded  me  into  it,"  said  she. 

"  Then  do  you  mean  to  refuse  ?  " 

"  Now,"   said  she,  "  what  is  the  use  of  arguing  on  such  a 


58  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

morning  ?  I  said  I  would  go  with  -you  for  a  nice  drive,  and 
here  I  am  ;  and  now  you  begin  to  talk  about  difficulties  and 
disagreeable  people.     Why  can't  you  let  well  alone  ?  " 

He  was  elf ectu ally  silenced  :  and  that  was  not  the  first 
time  he  had  found  himself  unable  to  cope  with  the  pro- 
nounced character  of  this  mere  school-girl.  Of  course,  he 
did  not  like  it.  There  was  a  frown  on  his  handsome  face  ; 
and  he  sat  moody  and  silent.  After  a  bit,  she  looked  at  him, 
and  there  was  a  mischievous  look  of  amusement  in  her  eyes. 

"  Have  I  offended  you  }  "  she  said. 

"  No  ;  but  you  have  been  rather  rude,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  that  is  pretty  language,"  said  she,  with  a  good- 
natured  laugh,  "  to  address  to  a  young  lady.  By-and-by  I 
shall  find  you  following  the  example  of  Dr.  Siedl.  He  called 
me  a  devil,  the  other  day." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  he  ;  and  this  confession  so 
tickled  her,  and  pleased  her,  that  she  got  into  a  fit  of  laugh- 
ing, which  eventually  conquered  his  surliness.  He  could  not 
help  laughing  too. 

"  Do  you  know  what  an  exasperating  person  you  are  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  Well,"  she  candidly  admitted,  "  one  or  two  people  have 
hinted  as  much  to  me  ;  but  I  always  considered  it  jealousy 
on  their  part — jealousy  of  my  superior  sweetness.  I  do  as- 
sure you  I  consider  myself  very  amiable.  Of  course,  if  jDCople 
choose  to  be  disagreeable — " 

"  That  means  if  people  don't  give  you  your  own  way  in 
every  thing,  you  will  take  it." 

"  Well,  there  is  something  in  that.  However,  let  us  say  no 
more  about  it.     I  forgive  you." 

She  settled  herself  comfortably  in  the  carriage,  the  sun- 
light just  catching  the  fine  color  of  her  face,  and  the  light 
breeze  stirring  ends  and  tatters  of  her  masses  of  dark  hair. 
If  she  was  a  runaway  school-girl,  there  was  httle  fear  about 
her.  She  was  criticising  the  appearance  of  the  houses  on 
Denmark  Hill  and  Heme  Hill  as  they  drove  past ;  she  was 
calling  attention  to  the  pale  purple  blossoms  of  the  wistaria 
hanging  in  front  of  the  sunlit  walls  ;  or  to  the  light,  sunny, 
velvety  green  becoming  visible  on  the  upper  side  of  the  black 
and  shelving  branches  of  the  cedars.  What  sort  of  people 
were  they  who  had  these  houses  ?  What  was  their  income  t 
Would  Mr.  Miller  like  to  live  there  ? 

Then  for  a  time  they  got  away  from  the  houses  ;  and,  be- 
hold !  here  were  beautiful  green  meadows  yellowed  over  with 
kingcups,  and  hedges  white  with  the  May.     Past  some  houses 


A  SUMMER  DA  Y'S  RIDE.  59 

again,  and  into  the  long  broad  avenues  of  Clapham  Park. 
Was  not  this  Clapham  Common,  with  its  golden  gorse  and 
gigantic  birch-trees  ?  They  dip  into  another  hollow,  and 
rise  again  ;  and  by-and-by  they  get  w^ell  out  into  the  country— 
the  perpetual  road  of  sunlit  brown,  the  green  fringe  of  hedge, 
the  blue  sky  with  its  long  flakes  of  white,  and  the  musical, 
monotonous  patter  of  the  horses'  feet. 

"  So  you  saw  Mr.  Drummond  last  night  1  "  said  Violet. 
"  Well  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?  No— don't  tell  me  ;  for 
unless  you  admired  him  very  much — very  much  indeed — you 
and  I  should  quarrel." 

"  I  thought  you  were  rather  offended  with  him  just  now  ? " 
said  George  Miller,  with  some  surprise. 

"  You  can  be  offended  with  people  you  admire  and  like, 
can  you  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  found  him  a  very  pleasant  fellow — rather  eccentric, 
you  know — rather  too  much  given  to  puzzling  you  about 
things — " 

"  He  can  not  help  yoiir  not  understanding  him,"  said  Miss 
Violet,  innocently. 

"  As  for  that,  I  don't  suppose  he  has  all  the  wisdom  in  the 
world,"  said  George  Miller,  who  was  only  a  young  man,  and 
quick  to  imagine  rivalry.  "  And  you  must  admit  that  he  isn't 
very  good-looking." 

"  I  dislike  dolls,"  said  Miss  Violet ;  "  I  like  men  to  be 
men — not  dolls." 

And  now  they  had  come — why,  this  easy,  delightful  travel- 
ing was  like  a  dream  ! — to  the  high  ground  overlooking  the  far 
stretches  of  Wimbledon  Common ;  and  here,  indeed,  were 
two  immense  parallel  plains,  that  of  the  fair  blue  sky  above, 
and  that  of  the  black  heath  below,  dotted  here  and  there  with 
yellow  furze.  Far  away  at  the  edge  of  the  world  there  lay  a 
ring  of  low-lying  wooded  country,  that  somehow  seemed  to 
suggest  the  mystic  neighborhood  of  the  sea. 

"  What  a  fine  scent  the  wind  brings  with  it,"  said  Miss 
Violet,  "  when  it  blows  over  the  gorse  !  Why  can't  they  bottle 
that,  instead  of  carnation,  and  peppermint,  and  such  stuffs  ? 
fancy  getting  a  breath  of  country  air  into  a  London  church. 
Do  you  like  red  hawthorn  ?  " 

"Yes,  rather."  \ 

"  I  don't.  It's  too  jammy.  It  looks  as  if  it  had  been 
dipped  red  by  a  confectioner.  I  believe  in  the  real  white 
natural  stuff." 

"  But  the  one  is  as  natural  as  the  other,"  said  he. 


6o  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  argue,"  she  retorted,  v;ith  great  conde- 
scension, "  tiie  weather  is  too  fine." 

With  their  youthful  spirits  and  a  joyous  day,  and  a  capital 
pair  of  horses,  the  time  was  passing  pleasantly  enough ;  but 
at  this  point  their  enjoyment  Vv^as  interrupted  by  a  pitiful 
accident.  They  had  got  past  the  Robin  Hood  gate,  and  were 
rolling  along  the  valley.  A  woman  was  coming  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  with  her  two  children — one  in  her  arms,  and  one 
whom  she  had  allowed  to  lag  far  behind.  Now,  there  was  a 
cart  laden  with  timber  in  the  wa}^  and  as  Miller's  coachman 
drove  to  the  right  of  the  road  to  pass  it,  it  unfortunately 
happened  that  the  child,  a  little  girl,  stumbled  at  the  edge  of 
the  pathway,  and  almost  rolled  against  the  carriage.  She  was 
not  run  over,  but  she  struck  her  head  against  the  hind  wheel ; 
and  when  Violet  North,  quick  as  lightning,  opened  the  carriage 
door,  jumped  down,  and  caught  up  the  child,  blood  was  flowing 
from  a  slight  scalp-wound.  The  girl,  who  had  caught  up  the 
child  long  before  the  mother  could  reach  it,  and  Vvho  did  not 
know  that  the  wound  was  not  very  dangerous,  was  frantic  in 
her  indignation. 

"  Yoit  a  driver !  "  she  said,  with  her  eyes  flashing.  "  Why 
didn't  you  stop  your  horses  .-*  You — you — you're  not  fit  to — • 
Oh,  my  poor  child,  I  think  w^e've  murdered  you  ! " 

She  ran  with  the  child  back  to  the  public-house :  there — 
the  mother  not  seeking  to  relieve  her  of  her  burden — she  got 
water  and  washed  the  wound,  and  tied  it  up  as  well  as  she 
could  with  linen  they  brought  her.  The  coachman  came  in — 
he  was  explaining  to  the  people  that  it  was  not  his  fault  at  all. 

"  Hold  your  peace  !  "  she  said. 

Then  she  turned  to  the  mother. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  Give  me  your  address — I  will  come 
and  see  you." 

She  quickly  pulled  out  her  purse.  All  this  time  her  face 
was  very  pale  and  determined.  George  Miller  interfered,  and 
said, 

"  Here,  my  good  woman,  is  a  sovereign  for  you." 

"She  shall  have  ten  sovereigns — she  shall  have  twenty  sover- 
eigns !  "  the  girl  said,  almost  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot,  and  with 
abundant  tears  rushing  into  her  eyes.  "  Here,  mother,  is  all 
the  money  I've  got — I'm  sorry  we  can  do  nothing  but  give  you 
maney.  But  I  will  come  and  see  you — my  father  will  come 
and  see  you.  You  go  to  a  surgery  when  you  get  up  to  Wands- 
worth, and  get  a  good  doctor,  and  I'll  pay  him — now,  don't 
you  forget;  I  wijl  look  after  you." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  miss,"  said  the  poor  woman  ;  and  the 


A  SUMMER  DAY'S  RIDE.  6i 

men  standing  by,  when  the  girl  went  out,  said  to  each  other, 
"  There  now,  that's  a  real  lady,  that  is ;  that's  none  o'  your 
fine,  stuck-up  gentry  as  is  too  proud  to  step  down  from  their 
carriages ;  that's  a  real  lady,  that  is." 

The  carriage  was  outside,  and  the  coachman  again  on  his 
box.     She  went  up  to  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  distinctly.  "  I  believe  I 
was  wrong.     I  don't  think  you  could  have  helped  it." 

"  Well,  miss,  I  don't  think  I  could,"  said  he.  "  But  there's 
no  great  harm  done — no  bones  broken.     "  It'll  only  be  a  scar." 

And  so  they  drove  on  once  more  ;  but  Mr.  Miller  was  not 
at  all  pleased  at  the  way  he  had  been  treated  in  that  wayside 
public-house. 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  get  your  father  to  go  and  see  that 
woman  ?     How  will  you  explain  your  being  here  ?  " 

"I  don't  mind  that,"  she  said. 

"  He  could  do  no  good.  How  much  money  did  you  give 
her?" 

"  Three  sovereigns  and  some  silver." 

"  So  she  has  got  over  four  pounds  on  account  of  that  cut. 
I  don't  think  she'd  mind  having  the  whole  of  her  family  treated 
in  the  same  way." 

"  If  you  had  your  head  laid  open,"  she  retorted,  "  I  won- 
der how  much  your  friends  would  think  a  proper  compensa- 
tion." 

They  drove  on  for  some  distance  in  silence. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  we  are  having  a  fair  amount  of  quar- 
reling for  a  single  -day." 

"  But  that,"  she  answered,  with  a  charming  smile,  "  is  only 
to  show  what  good  friends  we  are.  Of  course,  if  we  had  met 
each  other  at  a  dinner  party,  and  then  at  a  ball,  and  then  at 
a  dinner  party,  we  should  be  excessively  polite  to  each  other. 
Would  you  rather  like  that  ?  Shall  we  try — from  here  to 
Hampton.'*  Shall  I  begin?  I  beg  your  pardon^  my  dear  Mr. 
Miller,  but  would  you  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  what  o^ clock 
it  is  ?  " 

The  abrupt  change  of  manner,  and  the  air  with  which  she 
made  the  inquiry,  caused  him  to  burst  out  laughing ;  and  this 
effectually  put  both  into  a  good  humor,  which  lasted,  with  but 
few  interruptions,  throughout  the  rest  of  the  day. 

On  through  Kingston  and  over  the  high-arched  bridge — 
on  by  the  wall  and  trees  of  Bushey  Park — past  the  entrance 
to  Hampton  Court  Palace — underneath  the  shadow  of  some 
mighty  trees — and  then  round  to  an  open  green,  to  the  river, 


62  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

and  to  a  big  old-fashioned  inn,  its  walls  all  hanging  with  the 
blossoms  of  the  wistaria. 

''  Have  you  courage  to  have  luncheon  in  the  ordinary  coffee- 
room  ? "  said  he — as  if  she  lacked  courage  for  any  thing  ! 

"  Certainly,"  she  said.  "  I  like  to  see  people  ;  and  I  am 
not  afraid  of  meeting  any  one  I  know.  Oh,  I  say,  if  Miss 
Main  could  only  see  me  now  !  " 

When  they  went  into  the  coffee-room  they  found  there 
only  two  old  maiden  ladies,  having  bread-and-cheese  and 
lemonade,  a  Frenchman  and  his  wife,  who  was  much  older 
than  himself,  and  an  old  gentleman  who  had  fallen  asleep  in 
his  chair.  They  were  therefore  fortunate  in  being  able  to 
get  a  table  at  one  of  the  windows,  so  that  they  could  turn 
from  the  dull  red  carpet  and  white  curtains  of  the  room  to 
the  great  glowing  world  outside.  Violet  was  very  grave  while 
luncheon  was  being  ordered.  She  expressed  her  preference 
for  this  or  that  with  a  serious  frankness.  She  had  the  air  of 
a  young  woman  on  her  bridal-trip,  who  is  above  all  things 
determined  to  appear  indifferent  and  at  her  ease,  so  as  to 
make  the  waiter  believe  that  she  has  been  married  from  time 
immemorial. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  when  the  waiter  was  gone,  "  you  will  take 
a  little  Champagne,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  like  it,  you  know,  espe- 
cially if  it  is  not  too  sweet ;  but  I  am  not  allowed  to  have  any 
thing  more  than  a  glass  of  sherry." 

"  XVho  can  prevent  you  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  own  self-respect,"  she  said,  with  great  suavity.  "  Do 
you  think  I  would  take  advantage  of  Miss  Main  behind  her 
back  .?  " 

Luncheon  was  put  on  the  table ;  and  yet  they  could  not 
bear  to  have  the  window  shut  down.  Indeed,  there  was  not 
much  wind  blowing  in ;  for  now  the  ominous  black  clouds  in 
the  south  had  cleared  away ;  a  clear  blue  sky  shone  over  the 
still  and  fair  landscape  ;  the  world  lay  in  the  peaceful  light  of 
a  summer  forenoon.  Violet  was  most  unmistakably  hungry, 
but  she  gave  her  luncheon  only  a  divided  attention.  She 
was  continually  turning  to  the  sunlit  picture  outside,  a  soft 
and  dreamy  picture  without  sound.  For  there  w^as  the  long 
blue  sweep  of  the  river — a  pale  steel-blue,  here  and  there 
broken  by  a  sharp  line  of  white.  Out  in  mid-stream  the  wind 
caught  the  surface,  and  ruffled  it  in  to  a  darker  blue  ;  in  under 
the  soft  green  willows — which  were  glowing  in  the  sunshine — 
there  were  smooth  shadows  of  a  cool,  dark  olive.  On  the 
one  side,  these  willows  and  meadows  ;  on  the  other,  the  ruddy 


A  SUMMER  DA  Y'S  RIDE.  ^^ 

road  and  corner  by  the  Palace  wall,  with  stately  elms  and 
chestnuts  ;  in  the  far  distance,  a  softly  wooded  landscape  all 
shimmering  in  the  light.  Could  one  catch  the  sound  of  that 
boat  coming  round  the  swee^Ding  curve — the  sunshine  spark- 
ling on  the  wet  blades  of  the  oars  ?  There  was  a  flock  of 
ducks  swimming  in  a  compact  body  against  the  gentle  cur- 
rent. Far  overhead  a  rook — grown  small  by  the  height- 
was  making  his  way  homeward  through  the  blue. 

"  And  who  are  these  ?  "  she  saidy  looking  down  on  some 
six  or  eight  young  men  who  were  crossing  the  road  from  the 
inn  and  making  for  the  green  banks  by  the  side  of  the  river. 
They  were  carrying  bottles  and  glasses,  and  most  of  them 
had  lighted  pipes  or  cigars. 

"  I  should  think  they  were  the  German  fellows  wdio  were 
making  such  a  noise  up-stairs." 

"  I  don't  call  part-singing  noise,"  she  retorted.  "I  wish 
they  had  gone  on.     I  knew  every  song  they  sung." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  like  to  have  gone  and  helped 
them,"  he  said,  not  very  graciously. 

"  I  could  have  done  that  too,"  she  replied,  simply.  "  My 
singing  is  not  said  to  be  lovely  by  critics — envious  critics,  you 
know — but  I  am  mad  about  German  songs.  Now  look  at 
that  one  who  has  lain  down  on  his  back,  with  his  hat  over  his 
face  :  why  doesn't  he  start  a  song  ?  He  isn't  smoking,  like 
the  others." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go  and  ask  him  ?  "  he  sug- 
gested. 

■  "  I  would,  really,"  she  replied,  quite  innocently.  "  You 
don't  know  how  fond  I  am  of  the  German  choruses.  Don't 
you  know  ''  Gaudeamiis  ?  '  " 

"  If  you  would  prefer  to  go  and  make  the  acquaintance  of 
those  gentlemen — " 

"  In  the  same  manner  I  made  yours  ?  "  she  remarked. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  any  one — "  He  was  obviously  get- 
ting annoyed  again,  and  she  interposed. 

''There  is  nothing,"  she  observed,  "of  gratitude  in  the 
human  breast.  Here  have  I  run  the  risk  of  the  most  tremen- 
dous disgrace — worse  than  that,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  soli- 
tary confinement  and  bread  and  water  for  three  months — all 
to  give  you  the  pleasure  of  my  society  for  a  few  hours  ;  and 
the  return  is  that  I  am  thwarthed,  crushed,  argufied  at  every 
turn — " 

"  You  are  likely  to  be  crushed  !  "  he  said,  laughing. 

"  Why,  I  only  wanted  them  to  sing  some  more  songs  to 


64  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

please  you.  I  know  the  songs,  every  one  of  them,  by  heart. 
Why  should  I—     Oh  !  "  ^ 

She  threw  down  her  knife  and  fork,  and  clasped  her  hands 
together  in  delight. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  that  is  "i  " 

One  of  the  young  fellows,  lying  stretched  at  full  length  on 
the  grass,  had  been  tapping  time  with  his  stick,  on  an  empty 
bottle,  to  an  imaginary  tune.  Th^n  he  had  taken  to  whistling, 
which  he  suddenly  abandoned  in  order  to  bawl  out,  in  a  strong, 
careless,  deep  bass  voice, 

"  Was  kommt  dort  von  der  Hoh', 
Was  kommt  dort  von  der  Hoh' ;" 

and  then  the  full  chorus  burst  in  upon  him,  not  very  musically, 
for  some  of  the  young  men  tried  to  keep  their  pipes  in  their 
mouths, 

"  Was  kommt  dort  von  der  lederncn  Hoh', 
Sa,  sa  !  ledernen  Hoh', 
Was  kommt  dort  von  der  Hoh'!  " 

"  Oh,  you  nice  young  men  !  "  cried  Violet  North.  *'  Oh, 
you  nice  young  men,  don't  stop! " 

But  they  did  stop ;  the  foxy  chorus  had  less  novelty  for 
them  than  for  her ;  and,  in  fact,  this  young  fellow  had  bawled 
out  a  line  or  two  of  it  out  of  pure  idleness  and  laziness.  Some 
talking  ensued,  with  here  and  there  a  faintly  heard  burst  of 
laughter.     Suddenly  the  deep-voiced  young  man  called-out, 

"  Es  zogen  drei  Burschen  wohl  uber  den  Rhein, 
Bei  einer  Frau  Wirthin  da  kehrten  sie  ein," 

and  there  was  another  scramble  for  the  chorus, 

"  Bei  einer  Frau  Writhm  da  kehrten  sie  ein." 

Every  one  knows  that  Uhland's  story  of  the  three  students  is 
among  the  most  pathetic  of  ballads  ;  but  what  pathos  was 
there  possible  to  those  stalwart  young  fellows,  with  their  lusty 
throats,  their  tobacco,  and  beer  and  wine  ?  And  yet  the  dis- 
tance softened  the  sound  ;  the  beautiful  air  had  its  own  mes- 
sage of  sentiment  with  it.  In  the  still  sunshine,  aud  by  the 
side  of  the  cool  river,  the  various  voices  seemed  harmonious 
enough. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Violet,  "  if  they  would  only  bestir  themselves, 
and  sing  properly  !     I  am  sure  they  belong  to  some  choral  so- 


A  SUMMER  DA  TS  RIDE.  65 

ciety.  Why  don't  they  sit  up,  and  throw  their  nasty  pipes  in- 
to the  river !  " 

Not  they  :  they  lay,  and  laughed,  and  sung  snatches  of  cho- 
rus, idle  as  the  summer  day  around  them.  Of  course,  they 
sung  of  the  Lorelei,  though  there  was  here  no  gloomy  and 
impending  rock  for  the  mystic  maiden  to  sit  on  in  the  even- 
ing light,  while  the  soft  tones  of  her  harp  lured  the  mariner 
to  his  fate.  They  sung  B-jodelso-ng,  thejode/erha.ymg  all  the  air 
to  himself ;  the  others  merely  chanting  a  rhythmic  and  deep 
accompaniment,  as  is  the  fashion  of  the  Swiss  workmen  when 
they  are  walking  home  in  the  evening.  They  devoted  them- 
selves to  a  couple  of  drinking-songs,  and  then  they  got  back 
to  the  region  of  sentiment  with  the  Tyrolese  lover's  "  Her- 
zig's  Schatzerl,  lass  dich  herzen."  Violet  had  been  getting 
more  and  more  impatient.  She  had  finished  her  luncheon, 
or  rather  had  neglected  it  for  the  singing,  and  the  sunlight, 
and  the  green  foliage  without.  She  had  not  been  a  talkative 
companion. 

"  Can't  we  go  out  now  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  you  want  to  get  nearer  to  those  German  fel- 
lows .? "  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  can  not  hear  them  very  well  at 
such  a  distance." 

"Just  as  you  like,  then,"  said  he,  with  no  great  warmth  of 
assent.     "  Of  course,  we  shall  have  to  come  back  here." 

She  went  to  get  her  shawl,  and  then  the  two  of  them  passed 
down  the  stairs  together.  Alas  !  what  was  that  she  heard  as 
as  she  got  into  the  hall  ?  She  could  only  hear  the  air ;  but 
she  knew  the  words  they  were  singing, 

"  Wohlauf,  noch  getrunken  den  funkelnden  Wein  I 
Ade  nun,  ihr  Bruder,  geschieden  muss  sein." 

Why  "  Ade  ! "  just  as  she  was  coming  out  to  see  and  hear 
something  more  of  them }  Indeed,  when  she  went  out  to 
the  front  steps,  the  tall  youths  had  all  got  to  their  feet,  and  a 
waiter  was  bringing  back  empty  glasses  and  bottles. 

"  They  are  going,"  she  said,  with  some  disappointment. 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  Did  you  think  they  were  going  to  per- 
form the  part  of  Ethiopian  serenaders  the  whole  day  .''  '* 

"  What  shall  we  do  now } "  she  asked.  Her  musicians 
gone,  she  was  indifferent. 

"  Let  us  go  in  and  see  the  gardens,  and  the  fountains,  and 
the  fish.     Then  there  is  the  maze,  you  know." 

"  I  have  heard  of  that,"  she  said,  with  some  grandeur, 
"  That  is  the  place  that  maid-servants  like  to  lose  themselves 


06  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

in  when  they  go  out  for  a  holiday.  Thank  you,  we  will  do 
without  the  maze." 

They  went  round  and  into  the  Palace,  and,  behold !  be- 
fore them  were  the  German  youths,  straying  about  the  courts, 
and  apparently  halving  continual  trouble  wdth  their  double 
eyeglasses.  They  were  in  the  main  stalwart,  straight-limbed, 
good-looking  young  fellows,  though  they  wore  very  light  trou- 
sers, which  were  too  short  for  them  ;  and  brilliant  neck-ties, 
which  a  milliner's  girl  would  have  coveted  ;  and  had  had 
their  heads,  to  all  appearance,  shaved  on  some  recent  occa- 
sion. But  Miss  North  seemed  to  take  but  little  interest  now 
in  the  young  men;  she  scarcely  noticed  them. 

Among  the  few  visitors,  however,  who  were  walking  in  the 
gardens  behind  the  Palace,  there  were  two  whom  she  did 
particularly  notice,  and  that  in  a  very  curious  and  wistful 
fashion.  These  were  an  old  blind  man,  with  long  snow-white 
hair,  and  a  small  girl,  probably  his  grandchild,  who  was  lead- 
ing him  about,  and  chattering  to  him  about  all  the  things  she 
saw.  Violet  North  and  her  companion  were  sitting  on  a  seat 
which  was  in  the  cool  shadow  of  a  black  yew-tree  ;  and  from 
this  darkened  place  they  could  well  see  the  blazing  gardens 
all  around  them,  and  the  bright  figures  that  walked  about  in 
the  sunshine.  Wherever  the  old  man  and  the  child  went, 
thither  the  eyes  of  Miss  North  followed  them.  How  quiet 
the  place  was !  the  only  sound  that  of  the  plashing  of  the 
fountains.  The  repose  of  the  Old-World  garden  seemed  to 
invite  to  thinking.  There  was  a  sleepiness  about  those  dark 
yews  that  flung  their  black  shadows  on  the  burning  green- 
sward. It  was  a  comfort  to  the  eyes  that  those  yellow  and 
scarlet  flower-beds,  that  flamed  in  the  sunlight,  were  remote  ; 
here,  close  at  hand,  there  was  but  the  grateful  shadow,  and 
the  dark-green  under  the  branches,  and  the  slumberous  plash- 
ing of  the  waters. 

"  Do  you  see  that  little  girl  leading  about  the  old  man  ? 
She  is  describing  to  him  every  thing  she  sees — the  gold-fishes 
in  the  pond,  the  butterflies,  every  thing.  Do  you  know  what 
I  should  do  if  I  were  that  girl,  and  if  he  were  my  father  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  ;  he  had  never  heard  her  speak  in  this 
tone  before. 

"  I  should  tell  him  lies  !  "  she  said,  with  sudden  bitterness. 
"  I  should  go  and  tell  him  lies,  and  deceive  him,  and  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  blindness.  And  he  would  believe  me  ;  for 
how  could  he  suspect  that  I  would  be  so  mean  ?  " 

''  I — I  don't  understand  you,"  said  he. 


A  SUMuIER  DA  Y'S  RIDE.  67 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  a  careless  gesture,  "we  have  had 
our  holiday  ;  never  mind." 

And  yet  her  eyes  still  followed  the  old  man  and  the  child. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  absently,  "  whether,  if  you  break  the 
confidence  people  have  in  you,  you  can  never  restore  it  ?  Or 
is  it  all  done  for,  and  you  can't  go  back  ? " 

He  looked  at  her  once  more  :  she  was  quietly  crying. 

"  Violet  ! "  said  he,  "  what  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think  what  I  have  done,  that  is  all," 
she  said,  trying  to  conceal  her  tears;  "and  it  is  never  to  be 
undone  now.  And  all  for  what  ? — a  drive  and  a  look  at  some 
flowers ;  and  now  I  can  never  look  my  father  in  the  face  again, 
nor  the  only  friends  I  have  in  the  world,  nor  Miss  Main,  nor 
any  body." 

"  They — they  needn't  know,"  he  said,  hesitatingly. 

"Don't  I  know  myself  ?  "  she  said,  vehemently.  "  Can  any 
thing  be  worse  than  that?  And  I  never  was  so  mean  as  to 
deceive  any  one  before — and — oh  !  I  can't  bear  to  think  of 
it!" 

"  You  must  not  think  so  much  of  all  this,"  said  he  sooth- 
ingly. "  The  fact  is,  you  are  very  proud,  and  what  annoys 
you  wouldn't  disturb  any  body  else.  It  was  scarcely  fair,I  ad- 
mit, to  go  and  deceive  those  people,  or  rather  let  them  deceive 
themselves ;  but,  after  ah,  it  was  only  a  bit  of  fun — " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  rapidly.  "  It  was  that  at  the  time — it  was 
that  all  to-day — but,  now  that  we  have  had  our  adventure, 
comes  the  price  that  has  to  be  paid  for  it.  Do  you  knov/  what 
I  would  give  to  have  those  last  few  days  cut  out  of  my  life 
altogether  t     That  is  the  worst  of  it ;  you  can  not  forget." 

"  It  isn't  so  serious  as  all  that,"  he  pleaded. 

"  Not  to  you,"  she  answered. 

He  certainly  perceived  that  what  delight  was  to  come  of  this 
adventure  had  passed  away.  All  the  gay  and  careless  audac- 
ity had  fled  from  her  manner;  she  seemed  to  be  brooding 
over  her  self  humiliation.  It  was  no  use  arguing  with  her; 
she  was  much  too  sharp  in  her  replies  for  him.  He  began  to 
think  they  might  as  well  drive  back  to  London. 

She  pulled  out  her  watch. 

"  Could  your  man  get  me  up  to  London  by  half-past  five  ?  " 

"Certainly,  if  you  start  now." 

"  And  would  you  mind  leaving  me  anywhere  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Euston  Square.?  You  can  go  home  then,  you 
know." 

"  But  how  about  Miss  Main  ?  "  said  he,  in  surprise. 

"  Never  mind  her ;  I  will  arrange  about  that." 


68  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

*'  All  right,"  said  he  ;  "  we  must  return  to  the  inn  at  once." 
It  was  a  sultry  afternoon  as  they  drove  back  along  the 
dusty  highways  to  the  great  town  they  had  left  in  the  morn- 
ing. A  light  brown  haze  had  come  over  the  sky;  and  the 
sun,  that  had  got  a  coppery  linge,  threw  a  curiously  ruddy 
light  on  the  highway,  where  the  shadows  of  the  trees  were 
purple  rather  than  grey.  There  was  no  wind  now ;  the  air 
seemed  to  choke  one ;  the  birds  were  hushed ;  everything 
promised  thunder. 

"  You  mean  to  go  and  see  your  father,  I  suppose  ? "  said 
he. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  firmly.  "  This  at  least  I  can  do— I  can 
go  and  confess  to  every  one  whom  I  have  deceived,  and  ask 
their  pardon — every  one.  What  will  they  think  of  me  after- 
ward— well,  I  can  not  help  that.  I  should  have  thought  of 
that  before  undertaking  this  piece  of  folly." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  bear  all  the  blame,  and  take 
all  the  punishment,"  he  said.  *'  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will 
do,  if  you  like  :  what  if  I  go  up  to  your  father's  with  you,  and 
tell  him  the  whole  story  ?     I  will  if  you  like." 

"  You  would  ?  "  she  said,  with  her  face  brightening. 
"  Certainly." 

"  I  like  you  for  that,"  she  said,  frankly  ;  "  but,  of  course, 
I  can  not  allow  it.  You  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  at  all.  It 
isn't  the  mere  running  off  for  a  day  that  I  regret — that  was 
mere  stupidity — but  the  horrid  cheating  ;  it  is  that  I  can't  get 
over — " 

"  That  is  merely  because  you  are  so  proud." 
"  It  does  not  matter  how  or  why  it  is,  so  long  as  it  is  there. 
I  am  what  I  am  ;  and  I  hate  myself — I  shall  continue  to 
hate  myself  until  I  have  confessed  the  whole  thing,  and  left 
it  with  them  to  forgive  me  or  not,  as  they  please  And  if 
they  do,  will  they  ever  be  able  to  forget  ?  No,  no  :  this  piece 
of  fun — of  ridiculous  nonsense — has  done  something  that  is 
not  to  be  undone,  I  know  that." 

"  Come,  I  say,"  he  remonstrated,  "  you  are  really  taking 
the  thing  too  much  to  heart.  Is  there  no  sort  of  condoning  a 
mistake  in  the  world  ?  Is  every  thing  you  do  to  stick  to  you 
forever  ?     I  think  that  would  be  uncommonly  hard." 

"  Tell  your  man  to  go  as  fast  as  he  can  :  "  that  was  all  the 
answer  she  made  ;  and  yet  it  was  said  wistfully,  so  that  he 
took  no  offense. 

In  due  course  of  time  they  got  up  into  the  hot  air  of 
London  :  the  ominous  sky  was  clearing,  but  the  sultry  close- 
ness still  remained.     When  they  reached  the  neighborhood  of 


A  SUMMER  DA  Y'S  RIDE.  69 

Euston  Square  she  asked  to  be  set  down  ;  and  then  she  held 
out  her  hand,  and  bid  him  good-by. 

"  When  am  I  to  see  you  again  ?  "  he  asked,  rather  timidly. 

"  Perhaps  never,"  she  answered  ;  and  then  she  added,  with 
a  smile,  "  Don't  ask  me  to  make  any  more  appointments  at 
present.     There  has  been  enough  mischief  out  of  that." 

"  I  mean  to  see  you  soon,"  said  he,  with  some  firmness  ; 
and  then  he  drove  away. 

She  walked  up  to  the  door  of  her  father's  house,  and  rang 
the  bell.     Her  heart  was  beating  violently. 

"  Is  Sir  Acton  at  home,  George  ?  " 

"  Yes,  miss,"  answered  the  man ;  and  then  she  walked  in 
and  through  the  hall. 

She  found  her  father  in  a  room  the  walls  of  which  were 
almost  covered  with  plans  and  maps,  while  the  table  was 
littered  with  all  manner  of  papers.  When  he  looked  up  it  was 
clear  that  his  mind  was  deeply  engaged  on  some  project,  for  he 
betrayed  no  surprise  at  finding  her  standing  there. 

"  Well,  Violet,  well  ? "  he  said,  absently.  "  I  well  see  you  at 
dinner :  go  away  now,  like  a  good  girl." 

If  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  her  there,  he  was  sufficiently 
startled  by  what  followed.  Before  he  knew  how  it  all  hap- 
pened, he  found  the  girl  down  on  her  knees  beside  him,  hiding 
her  head  in  his  lap,  and  crying  wildly  and  bitterly.  What 
could  it  all  mean  ?  He  began  to  recollect  that  his  daughter 
had  not  been  expected  to  dinner. 

"  My  girl,  my  girl,  what  is  all  this  about  ?  "  said  he. 

She  told  him,  with  many  sobs,  the  whole  story — every 
particular  of  it,  and  eagerly  putting  the  whole  blame  on 
herself.  To  tell  the  truth.  Sir  Acton  was  not  so  wery  much 
shocked :  but,  then,  the  story  told  by  herself  would  have 
sounded  differently  had  it  reached  him  as  a  rumor  at  second- 
hand. 

"That  is  all,  then  ?  "  said  he.  "You  have  just  come  back 
from  that  foolish  excursion?  Well,  well,  you  did  right  to 
come  to  me.  Just  let  me  see  what's  to  be  done  :  but  you  did 
right  to  come  to  me." 

Perhaps  at  the  moment  some  notion  flashed  across  his  mind 
that  he  had  not  quite  given  the  girl  that  measure  of  paternal 
advice  and  protection  which  was  her  due.  Nor,  indeed,  was 
it  easy  for  him  to  say  off-hand  what  he  should  do  now ;  for  his 
mind  was  still  filled  with  particulars  of  a  Canadian  railway, 
and  there  was  scarcely  room  for  the  case  of  this  runaway 
school-girl. 


70  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  now,"  said  he,  "  I — I  don't  know  what  we 
had  better  do — " 

*'  Oh,  papa  !  "  she  cried,  with  the  beautiful  dark  eyes  still 
wet  with  tears,  looking  up  imploringly  to  his  face,  "  take  me 
with  you  to  Canada  !  I  asked  you  on  Saturday  ;  and  if  you 
had  said  yes  then,  I  should  have  been  so  happy !  I  want  to 
go  away  from  England — I  hate  England — I  don't  care  how 
long  you  are  away,  papa,  won't  vou  take  me  with  you  to  Can- 
ada ?" 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  head ;  was  there  some  look  of  her 
mother  in  those  earnest,  entreating  eyes  ? 

"  I  will  do  any  thing  you  really  wish,  Violet,"  he  said,  hur- 
riedly. "  But  you  don't  know  what  this  means.  I  may  be 
away  longer  then  I  expect  at  present — perhaps  eighteen 
months  or  two  years." 

"  Oh,  papa,  that  is  just  what  I  want — to  be  away  for  a  long, 
long  time,  or  altogether — " 

"  But  the  traveling,  Violet.  V/e  should  have  to  be  con- 
tinually traveling  immensely  long  distances,  with  little  time 
for  amusement  and  sight-seeing.  And  we  should  occasionally 
get  into  places  where  the  hotel  accommodation  would  doubt- 
less frighten  a  Loridon-bred  young  lady." 

"  It  won't  frighten  me,"  she  said ;  and  there  was  a  happy 
light  shining  through  her  tears  ;  for  had  he  not  used  the  word 
"  we  ? " 

He  got  up  and  began  to  walk  qbout  tjie  room  :  she  stood  for 
a  minute  or  two  irresolute,  and  then  she  went  to  him,  and  put 
her  head  in  his  bosom,  so  that  he  put  his  arms  round  her. 

"  Papa,  I  will  be  such  a  good  companion  to  you  I  I  will 
copy  all  your  letters  for  you,  and  I  will  get  up  in  the  morning 
and  see  that  the  people  have  your  breakfast  for  you,  and  I 
will  take  charge  of  all  your  clothes  and  your  papers,  and  every 
thmg.  And  I  don't  want  to  go  sight-seeing — I  would  far 
rather  see  railways,  and  coal-mines,  and  engine-houses ;  and 
I  don't  need  any  outfit,  for  I  can  wear  the  dresses  I  have ; 
and  if  there  is  any  great  expense,  papa,  you  might  give  me  ten 
pounds  a  year  less  until  you  make  it  up — " 

At  this  he  burst  out  laughing  ;  but  it  was  rather  a  gasping 
sort  of  laugh,  and  there  was  just  a  trace  of  moisture  in  his  eyes 
as  he  patted  her  head. 

"  I  think  we  might  scrape  together  the  few  pounds  for  your 
traveling  without  starving  you,"  said  he. 

"  Then  you  will  let  me  go  with  you  ?  "  she  cried,  raising  her 
head,  with  a  great  delight  shining  in  her  face. 


ENGLAND,  FAREWELL  I  71 

He  nodded  assent.  Then  she  put  her  arms  round  his  neck 
and  pulled  down  his  head,  and  said, 

"  I  have  something  to  whisper  to  you,  papa.  It  is  that  I 
love  you ;  and  that  there  is  no  other  papa  like  you  in  the 
whole  world." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  he,  when  she  had  released  him,  "that  be- 
ing settled,  what  do  you  propose  now.  Miss  Violet .'' " 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  now  I  have  confessed  every  thing  to  you, 
and  you  have  been  so  good  to  me,  I  am  not  so  anxious  about 
other  people ;  but  still  I  have  to  go  and  beg  them  to  forgive 
me  too — and  I  will  go  on  my  knees  to  them  all,  if  they  wish ; 
and  then,  papa,  I  must  tell  Miss  Main  that  I  am  going  to 
Canada.     When  do  we  go,  papa  ?  " 

"Will  three  weeks  hence  be  too  soon  for  you  ?" 

"Three  days  wouldn't." 

"Then,  between  a  fortnight  and  three  M'eeks." 

She  was  so  overjoyed  and  grateful  that  she  gladly  consented 
to  stay  to  dinner — a  telegram  having  been  sent  to  Miss  Main 
— and  she  even  condescended  to  be  civil  to  Lady  North  and 
to  her  rather  ugly  half-sisters.  After  dinner  she  was  sent 
over  to  the  school  in  her  father's  brougham. 

She  made  her  peace  with  Miss  Main,  though  that  lady  was 
sore  distressed  to  hear  that  she  was  about  to  leave  the  school 
and  go  to  Canada.     Then  she  went  up  to  her  own  room. 

She  threw  open  the  window.  It  had  now  begun  to  rain ; 
and  there  were  sweet,  cool  winds  about.  In  the  dim  orange 
twilight  of  a  solitary  candle,  she  got  out  of  her  trunk  the  leaves 
of  her  MS.  novel,  and  these  she  deliberately  tore  to  pieces. 

"  You  sham  stuff,  that  is  an  end  of  you ! "  she  seemed  to 
say ;  "  you  must  pack  off,  along  with  plenty  of  other  nonsense. 
I  have  done  with  that  now ;  you  were  good  enough  as  the 
amusement  of  a  school-girl.  The  school-girl  casts  you  aside 
when  she  steps  into  the  life  of  a  woman." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


ENGLAND,  FAREWELL  ! 


"  When  does  she  go  ? "  asked  James  Drummond  of  his  sis- 
ter.    He  was  rather  moodily  staring  out  of  window. 

"To-morrow  they  go  down  to  Southampton  ;  and  I  think 
they  sail  next  day.  All  the  school  is  in  a  terrible  way  about 
it ;  Amy  has  been  having  little  fits  of  cr}'ing  by  herself  these 


72  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

two  or  three  days  back.  She  says  that  the  whole  of  the  girls 
came  and  asked  Violet  for  some  little  keepsake — and  of 
course  she  would  part  with  her  head  if  it  was  asked  of  her — 
and  now  they  mean  to  present  her  with  some  book  or  other, 
with  their  names  written  in  it.  Dear,  dear  me,  what  will  our 
Amy  do !  I  am  glad  she  had  sufficient  sense  not  to  accept 
Violet's  watch — the  notion  of  one  girl  coolly  offering  another 
a  gold  watch  !  " 

"  We  shall  miss  her  too,"  Mr.  Drummond  said ;  he  was  ap- 
parently not  overjoyed  at  Violet  North's  approaching  depart- 
ure. 

He  turned  impatiently  from  the  window. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he — with  a  look  of  anger  which  would 
have  frightened  any  body  but  his  sister,  who  knew  his  ways — 
"  do  you  know  what  mischief  is  likely  to  be  done  the  girl 
by  this  two  years'  trip  ?  Look  at  her  now — a  wild,  headstrong, 
audacious  school-girl  just  entering  the  period  in  which  her 
character  as  a  woman  will  be  formed.  And  this  moment,  in- 
stead of  letting  some  soft  womanly  hand  smooth  down  the 
angles  of  her  character — instead  of  submitting  her  to  all  sorts 
of  gentle  influences,  which  would  teach  her  something  of  the 
grace  and  sweetness  of  a  woman — they  carry  her  off  among 
a  mob  of  railway  directors,  with  their  harsh,  mechanical  ways, 
and  their  worship  of  money,  and  their  loud  and  bragging  self- 
importance.  Why,  the  girl  will  come  back  to  England,  if 
ever  she  comes  back,  worse  than  ever." 

"  Do  you  think  her  so  very  bad  at  present  ? "  Mrs.  War- 
rener  remonstrated,  gently.  "  I  thought  you  were  very  fond 
of  her." 

"  And  I  am,"  he  answered.  "  And  there  is  a  great  deal 
about  her  that  is  to  me  intensely  interesting,  and  even  fasci- 
nating ;  while  there  is  much  that  can  only  be  tolerated  in  the 
hope  that  years  will  eradicate  it.  It  was  all  very  well  to  be 
amused  by  her  rude  frankness,  her  happy  thoughtlessness, 
and  that  sort  of  romantic  affectation  she  sometimes  played 
with  while  she  was  a  school-girl »  but  would  you  like  to  see 
all  these  things  in  the  woman  \ " 

"She  must  grow  wiser  as  she  grows  older,"  his  sister  said, 
fighting  a  losing  battle  in  defense  of  her  friend. 

"  No  doubt ;  but  will  she  grow  gentler,  sweeter,  more  wo- 
manly ?  Her  father,  I  dare  say,  thinks  he  is  doing  her  a  kind- 
ness ;  he  is  doing  her  a  great  injury." 

"  You  don't  like  to  part  with  her,  James,"  his  sister  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Certainly  I  don't.     I  had  some  notion  of  asking  her  father 


ENGLAND,  FAREWELL!  7^ 

to  let  her  come  and  stay  with  us  when  she  left  school,  and 
she  was  bound  to  leave  it  soon.  If  we  could  have  got  her 
with  us  to  the  Highlands,  and  kept  her  there  for  a  couple  of 
months,  she  would  have  got  familiarized  with  us,  and  staid 
on  indefinitely." 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  quite  as  impulsively  generous  as  her 
brother ;  but  she  had  to  do  with  housekeeping  books  and 
tradesmen's  bills ;  and  she  ventured  to  hint  that  the  addi- 
tion of  another  member  to  their  household  would  affect  their 
expenditure  to  a  certain  degree.  He  would  not  hear  of  that. 
The  frugal  manner  in  which  they  lived  surely  left  them  some 
margin  for  acts  of  friendliness ;  and  if  Violet  North  were  to 
come  to  live  with  them,  she  was  not  the  sort  of  girl  to  expect  or 
appreciate  expensive  living. 

"  But  there  is  no  use  talking  of  it,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh. 
"When  she  comes  back,  we  shall  see  what  sort  of  woman 
she  is." 

"  That  is  part  of  your  regret,"  said  his  shrewd  sister.  You 
were  always  interested  in  the  girl — watching  her,  questioning 
her,  studying  her — and  now,  just  as  the  study  was  about  to 
reach  its  most  interesting  point,  she  is  seized  and  carried  off. 
Perhaps  it  will  not  turn  out  so  badly  for  her,  after  all :  I  am 
sure  1  hope  so,  for  I  can  not  help  loving  the  girl,  though  she 
has  never  been  a  good  example  to  set  before  our  little  Amy." 

"  I  think,"  said  Drummond,  suddenly,  "  I  should  like  to  go 
down  to  Southampton  and  see  her  off.  The  poorest  emigrant 
has  friends  to  go  and  bid  him  good-bye.  I  doubt  whether  she 
will  have  a  single  creature  to  shake  hands  with  her  the  day 
after  to-morrow." 

"  Won't  Mr.  Miller  be  there  ?  "  his  sister  suggested. 

"  No  :  when  he  learned  that  she  had  promised  neither  to  see 
him  nor  to  write  to  him  before  leaving,  he  very  fairly  said 
that  he  would  not  try  to  get  her  to  do  either.  And  it  was  very 
straightforward  of  that  young  fellow  to  go  up  to  her  father 
and  ask  his  pardon.  I  think  we  must  get  him  over  to  dinner 
in  a  day  or  two." 

"Yes,"  said  his  sister,  with  a  smile,  "now  they  have  taken 
Violet  away  from  you,  you  can  begin  and  dissect  him." 

"  There  is  more  commonplace  material  there,"  said  Drum- 
mond, indifferently,  as  he  went  away  to  get  a  railway  time- 
table. 

And  now  the  hour  came  at  which  Violet  North  had  to  leave 
that  tall  house  in  Camberwell  Grove  which  had  been  her 
home  for  many  a  day ;  and  there  was  her  father's  brougham 
at  the  door,  and  a  cab  to  take  her  small  store  of  worldly  pos- 


74  •      MADCAP  VIOLET. 

sessions.  The  girls  had  begged  leave  to  go  out  into  the  bit 
of  front  garden  to  see  her  off :  she  came  down  among  them, 
and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  hand-shaking,  and  kissing,  and 
"  Good-bye,  Violet,"  going  on.  It  was  a  trying  moment. 
For  these  last  two  weeks  she  had  been  released  from  all 
tasks ;  and  had  already  assumed  the  airs  of  a  woman.  She 
had  been  very  dignified  and  gracious  with  her  former  come 
panions — a  little  conscious  of  superiority,  and  proud  of  Miss 
Main's  proffered  society  and  counsel ;  and  inclined  at  times 
to  beg  of  this  or  that  girl  to  be  a  little  less  unruly,  and  a  little 
more  mindful  of  the  proper  demeanor  t)f  a  young  lady.  Now 
she  was  only  Violet  North  again.  Her  attempt  at  playing 
the  woman  quite  broke  down  ;  she  was  crying  bitterly  as  she 
got  into  the  carriage,  where  she  huddled  herself  away  igno- 
miniously  into  a  corner,  and  hid  herself  from  the  eyes  of  her 
companions,  who  were  waving  their  handkerchiefs  after  her. 

But  she  was  not  crying  when  she  stood  on  the  white  decks 
of  the  great  steamer,  and  watched  the  last  preparations  being 
made  for  leaving  England.  It  was  a  brilliant  and  beautiful 
forenoon,  the  sun  scattering  millions  of  diamonds  on  the  slight 
ripples  of  the  water,  a  fair  blue  sky  overhead.  She  was  proud, 
glad,  impatient  to  be  off :  the  new  excitement  had  brought 
such  a  color  to  her  face  and  such  a  brightness  to  her  eyes^ 
that  several  of  the  passengers  looked  at  this  remarkably  hand- 
some girl  and  hoped  she  was  not  merely  a  visitor. 

"  I  must  be  getting  ashore  now,"  said  Mr.  Drummond  to 
her ;  and  then  he  added,  with  the  old  friendly  smile,  "  Are  you 
sure  3^ou  have  no  other  message  than  those  you  have  given 
me  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  for  Mr.  Miller?  "  she  asked,  looking  down  ; 
and  then,  as  he  did  not  answer,  she  continued,  "  Yes,  I  have. 
Tell  him  I  am  obliged  to  him  for  all  the  fun  and  mischief  I 
had ;  but  that  is  all  over  now.  Oh,  Mr.  Drummond,  isn't  it 
fine  to  be  able  to  cut  off  all  that,  and  get  away  quite  free  ? 
I  am  so  glad  to  be  going !  And  when  you  see  me  again,  I 
shall  be  quite  a  reformed  character." 

.  "Good-bye,  Sir  Acton.  Good-bye,  Violet:  don't  you  for- 
get to  write  to  us." 

Shyly,  like  a  school-girl,  she  took  his  hand ;  and  yet  she 
held  it  for  a  moment,  and  her  voice  rather  faltered  as  she 
spoke  : 

"  Good-bye.  You  have  been  kind  to  me.  Try  not  to — to 
think  badly  of  me.  And — and  indeed  you  have  been  so  kind 
to  me  ! " 

Two  or  three  hours  afterward,  all  that  Violet  North  could 


C(EL  UM  NON  ANIMUM.  7  5 

see  of  England  was  a  long,  low  line  of  blue,  with  here  and 
there  an  indication  of  white ;  and  now  it  seemed  to  her  that 
she  did  not  hate  her  native  country  at  all.  That  is  what 
distance  does  for  us ;  the  harsh  and  bitter  features  of  this  or 
that  experience  are  slowly  obliterated,  and  memory  begins 
to  look  kindly  on  the  past.  England  was  to  her  no  longer  a 
place  of  squalid  streets  and  noisy  harbors,  of  smoke,  and 
bustle,  and  din ;  but  the  fair  old  mother-county,  proud  and 
honorable,  the  beloved  of  many  poets,  the  home  to  which  the 
carrier-pigeon  of  the  imagination  was  sure  to  return  with 
swift  wings  from  any  other  point  of  the  earth.  She  had  been 
glad  to  get  away  from  England  ;  yet  already  her  heart  yearn- 
ed back  to  the  old,  joyous,  mischievous  life  she  had  led,  and 
it  did  not  seem  wretched  at  all.  The  new  dignity  of  wo- 
man's estate  did  not  wholly  console  her ;  for  now  she  was 
crying  just  like  any  school-girl,  and,  like  a  school-girl,  she 
would  accept  of  no  comfort  in  her  misery. 


.       CHAPTER   IX. 

COELUM    NON    ANIMUM. 

Sir  Acton  North  had  early  in  life  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  women  were,  on  the  whole,  inexplicable  creatures, 
who  lived  in  a  region  of  sentiment  into  which  no  man  had 
ever  entered,  and  who  had  ail  kinds  of  fancies  and  feelings 
which  no  man  could  possibly  fathom.  But  because  he  could 
not  understand  these  strange  notions,  did  he  consider  them 
preposterous  ?  Not  at  all.  He  took  them  on  trust,  for  the 
very  reason  that  he  could  not  guess  at  their  origin.  He  was 
most  considerate  toward  those  women  with  whom  he  had 
dealings  :  it  was  enough  for  him  that  they  did  believe  so  and 
so,  and  did  feel  this  or  that ;  he  had  long  ago  given  up  all 
notion  of  trying  to  comprehend  their  sentiments  ;  and,  in 
short,  he  simply  accepted  their  reports.  Take,  for  example, 
the  relations  between  Violet  North  and  her  step-mother. 
Why,  he  asked  himself,  could  not  these  two  people  live  in 
the  same  house  together  and  be  decently  civil  to  each  other? 
The  answer  was  that  they  were  women — they  had  "sympa- 
thies," "  antipathies,"  "  secret  repugnances,"  and  all  the  rest 
of  it,  which  were  no  doubt  of  great  importance  to  themselves, 
but  were  a  trifle  unintelligible  to  others.  He  himself,  now, 
when  a  3^oung  man,  had  shared  his  room  with  this  or  that 


76  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

acqnamfance.,  whose  habits  and  opinions  were  Teiy  different 
from  his  own ;  tmt  did  thejr  quarrel  ?  No ;  they  were  two 
men;  they  had  something  else  to  think  of  than  studjfing 
those  niceties  of  manner  and  eiqnession  that  seemed  to  make 
women  either  lore  each  other  or  hate  each  other,  as  the 
chance  might  be.  Had  he  not  had  to  work  in  daily  associa- 
tion with  many  a  man  idiose  appearance,  and  diess,  and 
habit  of  speech — in  fact  every  tiung  about  him — betokened 
nungled  coarseness  and  meanness;  and  yet  when  did  either 
of  them  find  the  other's  presence  in  a  room  an  insupportable 
outrage  on  the  feelings?  Women  were  strange  creatures; 
but  they  had  to  be  leniently  dealt  with ;  for,  after  all,  these 
peculiar  fancies  of  theirs  were  doubtless  of  importance  to 
themsehres. 

Sir  Acton  knrally  carried  out  this  theory,  e^iecially  with 
r^;ard  to  his  wile  and  daughters.  At  the  present  moment  he 
was  hampering  in  a  serious  manner  the  performance  of  his 
duties  in  Canada,  merely  because  a  school-girl  had  besought 
him  to  take  her  aws^  from  England  for  eig^iteen  months  or 
a  oou|de  of  yearsw  He  did  not  understand  why  Violet  sbould 
hate  England,  or  be  so  anxious  to  leave  it  He  knew  she  had 
committed  some  schoc^-girl  indiscretions;  but  surely  every 
sdiool-girl  did  not  get  into  such  a  passion  of  remorse  when 
found  out  in  a  fault  ?  However,  here  was  his  eldest  daughter 
crying,  sobbini^  imploring  to  be  taken  with  him  to  Canada ; 
and  so  he  took  her. 

Nor  was  he  surprised  that  the  moment  she  left  England  she 
should  bqgin  to  be  very  sorrowful  and  filled  with  a  longing 
r^^ret  That  was  only  another  instance  of  the  unintelligible 
working  of  the  feminine  emotionsw  Hedieeredheras  wellas 
hecould;  and  tried  to  interest  her  in  the  details  of  the  voyage. 
Fortunately  they  had  a  fine  passage ;  there  were  some  agree- 
able people  on  board ;  and  Miss  North  speedily  regained  her 
ordinary  gayety  of  spirits.  When  they  landed  on  the  shores 
of  what  was  to  her  a  new  and  wonderful  country,  moreover, 
she  was  full  of  hi|^  expectation.  She  proved,  as  she  prom- 
ised to  be,  an  excellent  traveling-companioa.  She  was  ticpaX 
to  any  amount  of  fatigue — ^indeed,  the  girl  had  a  constitution 
as  tough  as  his  own.  She  made  lig^  of  del^rs  and  incon- 
veniences ;  she  saw  every  thing  that  was  tolerably  pleasant 
through  rose<»lored  spectacles;  such  things  as  were  beauti- 
ful or  delig^htful  provoked  an  admiration  which  pleased  her 
lather,  because  it  was  obviously  flavored  with  gratitude. 
Then  there  was  somethiiig  on  the  other  side.  Th«rwetenoi 
ahrs^  inflecting  valleys,  surveying  plains,  and  stwfying 


CCELUM  NO.V  AXIMUM. 


77 


maps.  There  was  pauses  of  social  enjoyment ;  and  Sir  Acton 
North,  in  taking  about  with  him  his  daughter,  was  not  at  all 
averse  to  showing  some  of  his  old  acquaintances  what  an  Eng- 
lish girl  was  like.  And  among  those  families  were  there  not 
a  few  young  men  who  secretly  admired  and  longed — who 
wondered  whether  it  was  not  possible  to  fascinate,  delay,  and 
subsequently  capture  this  beautiful  bird  of  passage  ?  Doubt- 
less ;  but  their  wiles  were  of  no  avail.  She  was  too  busy, 
eager,  and  happy^too  gay  and  self-reliant  of  heart — to  attend 
to  imploring  glances  and  sigh.--.  If  she  had,  in  resolving  to  be- 
come a  woman,  thrown  aside  much  of  the  fractious  impatience 
and  rude  frankness  of  her  school-girl  days,  she  still  retained  a 
gracious  dignity — a  certain  lofty  audacity  of  pride  in  herself — 
that  would  not  at  all  permit  that  she  should  be  trifled  with. 
Those  young  gentlemen  were  not  aware  that  she  had  just  been 
released  from  school,  or  doubtless  they  would  have  been  suffi- 
ciently surprised  by  the  fashion  in  which  a  school-girl  could 
assume  all  the  self-reliant  dignity  of  a  woman,  keeping  them, 
more  especially,  in  their  proper  place. 

But  even  Sir  Acton's  placid  concurrence  in  the  vagaries  of 
the  feminine  nature  would  have  been  startled  if  he  had  known 
the  sentiment  that  was  gradually  growing  up  during  all  this 
time  in  his  daughter's  heart.  It  had  been  symbolized  in  a 
measure  by  the  manner  of  her  leaving  England.  She  v;as 
glad  to  get  away  from  the  squalor,  the  din,  the  bustle  of  the 
sea-port  town  from  which  they  sailed  ;  but  by-and-by  all  those 
objectionable  things  were  forgotten,  and,  looking  back,  she 
only  saw  her  own  beautiful  England.  So  now  all  the  harsh 
aspects  and  humiliating  circumstances  of  the  old  life  she  had 
cried  to  get  away  from  were  forgotten ;  and  she  looked  back 
to  the  small  circle  of  friends  she  had  known  with  a  tender 
and  wistful  regret.  She  grew  to  think  there  was  no  place  in 
all  the  world  so  quiet,  and  homely,  and  beautiful  as  that  little 
garden  behind  James  Drummond's  house  in  Camberwell 
Grove.  The  people  around  her  did  all  they  could  to  please 
her  and  amuse  her ;  but  they  were  only  acquaintances ;  her 
friends  were  back  in  that  old  and  yet  never-forgotten  time 
which  was  becoming  so  dear  to  her.  She  had  indeed  suc- 
ceeded in  putting  a  great  chasm  between  her  and  that  by- 
gone time.  England  was  not  half  so  far  away  from  her  as 
were  her  school-girl  days.  But  did  she  cease  to  care  for  the 
old  time,  and  for  the  friends  she  knew  then  ?  Not  much. 
Both  had  grown  dearer  to  her,  as  England  had  grown  dearer 
to  her ;  and  many  a  night,  when  a  great  lambent  planet  was 
shining  in  the  northern  sky,  she  looked  up,  and  her  heart  said 


78  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

to  it,  "Ah,  how  happy  you  must  be  ;  for  you  are  able  to  look 
across  the  waters  and  see  my  England  !  " 

And  as  for  him  who  had  been  her  companion  in  that  advent- 
ure which  was  the  main  cause  of  her  exile  ?  Well,  he  under- 
went transformation  too.  First  of  all,  she  was  considerably 
ashamed  of  the  whole  affair ;  and  did  not  like  to  think  of  him. 
Then  she  began  to  look  upon  that  episode  in  a  sort  of  half- 
humorous  way ;  she  would  smile  to  herself  in  reflecting  on  her 
own  folly,  and  perhaps  wonder  what  he  was  now  thinking  of 
it  all.  But  as  the  days,  and  the  weeks,  and  the  months  went 
by — as  the  continual  succession  of  actual  lakes,  and  moun- 
tains, and  pine-woods  made  England  look  more  and  more 
visionary  and  remote — so  that  little  adventure  came  to  be  re- 
garded as  the  only  bit  of  romance  that  had  ever  occurred  to 
her,  and  she  thought  of  the  bright  May-day  as  belonging  to  a 
past  spring-time  not  to  be  recalled  in  the  life  of  a  woman. 
He,  too ;  had  he  not  been  made  the  victim  of  her  petulant 
caprice  ?  Had  he  not  manfully  gone  and  taken  the  blame  of 
that  for  which  he  was  in  no  wise  reponsible  ?  And  did  he 
sometimes  think  of  her  now  t 

For  a  long  time  she  never  mentioned  him  in  her  letters. 
One  day,  she  put  a  timid  little  postscript  at  the  end  of  the 
last  page — she  was  writing  to  Mrs  Warrener — and  this  was 
what  she  asked,  in  a  half-comical  way : 

"  Do  you  ever  see  my  youthful  sweetheart  now  ?  What  a 
long  time  it  seems  since  we  made  fools  of  ourselves  !  I  sup- 
pose he  has  quite  forgotten  me  by  this  time ;  and  as  for  me, 
I  can  scarcely  remember  what  he  was  like,  except  that  he 
had  wavy  light-brown  hair,  which  I  thought  very  lovely  and 
quite  Adonis-looking.  Sometimes  I  dream  that  I  am  caught 
in  some  awful  piece  of  mischief,  and  Miss  Main  is  setting  me 
three  pages  of  '  Telemaque  '  to  write  out." 

It  was  a  casual  and  apparently  a  careless  question ;  but 
somehow  the  answer  was  looked  for.  And  that  came  from 
Mr.  Drummond  himself,  who  described,  in  his  rambling,  odd, 
jocular  fashion,  the  evening  which  Mr.  George  Miller  had 
spent  at  his  house  the  very  night  before.  The  girl  dwelt 
long  over  that  pleasant  little  picture ;  until  she  was  more 
ready  than  ever  to  cry  out,  "  How  very  happy  the  stars  must 
be,  because  they  can  see  my  England  ! " 


A  MESSAGE  HOME,  79 

CHAPTER  X. 

A   MESSAGE   HOME. 

England,  meanwhile,  had  not  remained  stationary  merely 
because  Violet  North  had  left  it.  The  little  world  in  which 
she  had  lived  still  wagged  on  in  its  accustomed  way,  bringing 
all  manner  of  changes,  big  and  little,  to  the  people  she  had 
known. 

First  of  all,  Mr.  Drummond  had  finally  completed  his 
scheme  for  a  great  work  to  which  he  meant  to  devote  the 
following  winter.  He  had  developed  many  such  schemes 
before  ;  and  he  had  always  been  looking  forward  to  a  winter's 
serious  work ;  but  somehow  the  big  project  generally  dwin- 
dled down  to  the  dimensions  of  a  magazine  article,  and  even 
that  was  sometimes  too  whimsical  and  perverse  for  the  most 
patient  of  editors.  However,  this  time  he  was  resolved  to 
get  the  thing  done ;  and  so  he  went  to  a  publisher  whom  he 
knew,  carrying  with  him  a  few  slips  containing  the  outlines  of 
his  projected  book.  The  publisher's  face  grew  more  and 
more  puzzled  as  he  looked  at  the  following  title  and  table  of 
contents : 

ON  A  PROPOSAL  TO   WHITEWASH   THE  OUTSIDE   OF 
WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 

Sub-head  i. — The  General  Properties  and  History  0/  Whitewash, 

Section      I.  On  Expiatory  Punishments. 

Section  II.  Remarks  on  Modern  Estimates  of  Judas  Iscariot,  Nero, 
Henry  VIIL,  and  Torquemada. 

Section  III.  Whitecross  Street. 

Section  IV.  On  those  retrospective  marriage  laws  which  clear  the 
character  of  illegitimate  children. 

Section    V.  On  tombstone  inscriptions. 

Sub-head  2. —  The  Interior  of  Westminster  Abbey. 

Section    I.  On  Exploded  Reputations. 

Section  II.  Three  questions  propounded :  (i)  Is  it  possible  for  the 
disembodied  spirit  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  of  his 
own  body  ?  (2)  Is  it  possible  for  a  disembodied  spirit 
to  blush  "i  (3)  Is  it  probable  that,  on  several  occa- 
sions, disembodied  spirits  may  have  been  present  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  blushed  to  find  their  own 
bodies  being  buried  there  ? 


86  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Section  III.  On  the  Dean  of  Westminster  as  a  collector  of  curiosi- 
ties 

Section    IV.  On  the  possibility  of  a  Dean  of  Westminster  becoming 
possessed  of  the  evil  eye,  and  therefore  able  to  secure 
,  celebrities  for  his  collection  before  the  proper  time. 

'  Section     V.  A  proposal  for  a  Junior  Westminster  Abbey :  the  occu- 

pants of  the  present  Abbey  to  retire  by  rotation  :  va- 
cancies to  be  filled  up  from  the  Junior. 

The  publisher  got  no  further  than  that.  His  brain  was  in 
a  whirl,  and  he  sought  safety  by  getting  back  to  the  initial 
point  of  his  perplexity. 

"  God  bless  my  soul  ! "  he  cried,  "  what  do  you  mean,  Drum^ 
mond  1  To  whitewash  Westminster  Abbey  ?  Why,  the  public 
wouldn't  hear  of  such  a  thing.  It  would  be  an  outrage — a  bar-, 
barism.     I  never  heard  of  such  a  notion !  " 

A  quick,  strange,  bewildered  look  came  into  Drummond's 
eyes  ;  he  looked  at  the  publisher  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"  You  don't — see — that  it  is  a  joke,"  said  he. 

"  A  joke  !  Is  all  this  meant  to  be  a  joke  ?  Do  you  think  the 
public  would  read  a  joke  extending  to  five  hundred  pages  ? " 

"  Confound  them,  they  read  many  a  five  hundred  pages  with- 
out any  joke  in  them  at  all,"  said  Drummond. 

"  My  dear  fellow ! "  said  the  publisher,  with  a  friendly  and 
condescending  smile,  "  why,  God  bless  my  soul !  who  could 
be  amusing  for  five  hundred  pages  ?  " 

"There  are  many  folks  amusing  all  their  life-long,"  retorted 
Drummond,  though  he  was  rather  disappointed.  "  What  they 
are  after,  goodness  only  knows.  Perhaps  they  have  the  fun 
taken  out  of  them  then'^ 

"Take  my  advice,  Drummond,"  said  his  friendly  adviser. 
"  Don't  waste  your  time  over  this.  If  it  were  a  real  piece  of  his- 
tory, now,  you  know — something  nice  and  picturesque  about  the 
Abbey  itself,  and  the  great  heroes  there — with  a  good  dash  of 
patriotism,  and  religious  feeling,  and  that  kind  of  thing — then 
the  public  would  look  at  it.  But  a  joke !  and  a  joke  about 
Westminster  Abbey  of  all  places  in  the  world  !  " 

"  I  meant  no  disrespect  to  the  Abbey,  I  am  sure,"  said  Drum- 
mond, humbly. 

"No,  no,"  said  his  friend;  "  don't  waste  your  time  on 
that." 

James  Drummond  went  home  crest-fallen  to  his  sister :  he 
was  sure  of  sympathy  and  admiration  from  his  unfailing  audi- 
ence of  one. 

"  They  won't  have  it,  Sarah." 

"And  why  ?" 


A  MESSAGE  HOME.  8i 

"  Because  the  public  wouldn't  see  it  was  meant  as  a  joke  ;  and 
then,  if  they  did,  they  would  take  it  as  an  insult.  By  heavens  !  '* 
he  added,  savagely,  "  I  wish  all  the  publishers  were  buried  in 
the  Abbey,  and  that  I  had  to  write  an  inscription  over  their 
common  tomb ! " 

"  What  would  you  say  ?  " 

He  stood  uncertain  for  a  moment. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  I  can  not  do  better  than  go  and 
compose  that  inscription.  As  a  great  favor  I  will  show  it  to  any 
publisher  who  makes  the  application.  It  is  not  every  one  who 
can  tell  before  his  death  what  his  tombstone  is  going  to  say  after 
that  event.  Sarah,  don't  come  in  to  disturb  me  until  I  have  fin- 
ished my  eulogium  on  the  departed  race  of  publishers." 

So  that  was  all  that  came  at  the  moment  of  Mr.  Drummond's 
great  project ;  and  Mrs.  Warrenerwas  once  more  defeated  in 
her  desire  to  be  able  to  write  out  to  Violet  North  that  her 
friend  had  become  famous.  For,  of  course,  whatever  Mr. 
Drummond's  own  notions  on  the  subject  were,  his  sister  was 
convinced  that  he  was  failing  in  his  duty  so  long  as  he  did  not 
achieve  a  great  reputation ;  and  of  his  capacity  to  do  that  she 
had  no  doubt  whatever. 

Events  had  moved  in  a  more  marked  way  with  Mr.  George 
Miller — "Young  Miller,"  as  Drummond  now  familiarly  called 
him.  In  the  first  place,  his  father  had  bought  for  him  a  com- 
fortable partnership  which  did  not  make  too  severe  a  call  upon 
his  time  ;  and  the  young  gentleman  having  thus  started  in  the 
world  for  himself,  preferred  to  leave  the  paternal  roof  and 
take  up  his  lodging  in  Half  Moon  Street,  where  he  had  a 
couple  of  sufficiently  pleasant  rooms.  Then  he  had  gained 
admittance  to  a  small  but  very  gorgeous  club  in  Piccadilly, 
the  ^  mere  staircase  of  which  would  have  justified  his  paying 
double  the  entrance  fee  demanded.  This,  about  the  most 
westerly  in  position  of  the  well-known  clubs  was  about  the 
most  easterly  in  the  character  of  its  members.  It  used  to  be 
said  that  the  lost  tribes  of  Israel  had  suddenly  turned  up  in 
that  imposing  building,  and  that,  as  a  consequence,  the  stew- 
ard had  to  excise  bacon  from  his  daily  bill  of  fare  ;  but  these 
rude  jokes  came  with  an  ill  grace  from  the  young  gentleman  of 
the  Stock  Exchange  whose  ancestry  was  much  more  thorough- 
ly missing  than  the  lost  tribes  had  been.  Of  course,  these 
two  classes  did  not  make  up  the  membership  of  the  club.  Far 
from  it.  There  waSt  just  as  large  a  proportion  as  in  other  clubs 
of  gentlemen  who  could  not  have  earned  a  penny  (except  at 
pool)  to  save  their  lives — if  that  could  fairly  be  regarded  as 
an  inducement ;  gentlemen  whose  ancestors  had  condescended 
6 


82  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

to  do  nothing  for  five  centuries,  and  who  were,  in  consequence, 
regarded  with  great  respect.  There  were  lawyers,  doctors, 
bill-discounters,  clergymen — in  short,  all  the  ordinary  constit- 
uents of  a  non-political  club ;  and  there  were  one  or  two  au- 
thors, who  were  occasionally  asked  at  the  last  moment  to  join 
this  or  that  little  dinner  party,  because  they  were  devilish  amus- 
ing fellows,  and  good  for  no  end  of  jokes  you  know. 

Now,  Mr.  George  Miller  had  become  very  friendly  with 
James  Drummond ;  and  on  several  occasions  the  latter  had 
been  induced  to  dine  at  this  club — let  us  call  it  the  Judaeum, 
for  distinction's  sake — with  his  newly-made  acquaintance. 
Mr.  Drummond,  during  these  evenings,  grew  more  and  more 
to  wonder  at  the  extraordinary  knowledge  of  the  world  which 
this  young  man  had  picked  up.  It  was  not  a  knowledge  of 
human  nature;  but  a  knowledge  of  the  facts  and  circum- 
stances of  the  life  around  him — of  the  petty  ambitions  of  this 
man,  of  how  the  next  made  his  money,  of  the  fashion  in 
which  the  other  inpecunious  person  contrived  to  make  both 
ends  meet  by  shifting  his  lodgings  from  time  to  time.  Mr. 
Drummond  perceived  that  young  Miller  was  an  ingenuous 
youth ;  but  how  had  he  picked  up  this  familiarity  with  the 
ways  of  the  world,  which,  after  all,  had  its  value  as  a  species 
of  education  ?  Mr.  Drummond  was  well  content  to  sit  and 
listen  to  the  young  man.  What  he  heard  did  not  edify  him  ; 
but  it  interested  him  in  a  way.  Moreover,  there  was  no 
arrogance  of  superior  knowledge  about  the  young  man.  On 
the  contrary,  he  was  still  the  humble  scholar  and  disciple  of 
this  whimsical  master  ;  and  was  greatly  pleased  when  Gama- 
liel invited  him  to  spend  an  evening  in  the  solitudes  of  that 
southern  mountain,  where  he  metaphorically  sat  at  the  feet 
of  the  teacher,  and  listened  with  much  apparent  interest  to 
monologues,  not  one-fifth  part  of  which  he  could  in  anywise 
understand. 

They  were  an  oddly  assorted  couple  of  friends.  But  if  Mr. 
Miller  found  himself  at  a  marked  disadvantage  while  his 
teacher  was  idly  roaming  over  the  fields  of  philosophy,  art, 
and  letters,  culling  a  flower  here  and  there,  and  expounding 
its  hidden  virtues,  he,  on  the  other  hand,  was  much  more  at 
home  than  Drummond  was  in  railway-stations,  restaurants, 
hansom-cabs,  and  what  not.  Young  Miller  "  knew  his  way 
about,"  as  the  saying  is.  When  he  paid  his  money,  he  got 
his  money's  worth.  He  smiled  blandly  at  the  pretenses  of 
begging  impostors ;  he  was  not  born  yesterday.  If  there 
was  a  crush  at  a  train,  Mr.  Drummond  would  give  way  to 
the  noisy  and   blustering  person  who   hustled  past   him— 


A  MESSAGE  HOME.  83 

would  stand  aside,  indeed,  in  mild  wonder  over  the  man's 
manners ;  but  young  Miller  did  not  see  the  fun  of  being 
imposed  on  in  that  fashion.  His  elbows  were  as  sharp  as 
any  man's ;  his  head  as  good  a  battering-ram  as  another's ; 
if  it  cost  him  twenty  hats,  he  would  not  be  deprived  of  his 
just  rights. 

One  evening  they  were  dining  together  in  a  quiet  way  at  the 
Judaeum.  While  they  were  talking,  the  waiter  had  opened  a 
bottle  of  Champagne,  and  filled  their  glasses.  The  moment 
Miller  tasted  the  wine,  he  perceived  that  it  was  wholly  differ- 
ent from  that  he  had  ordered,  and,  summoning  the  waiter, 
he  asked  him  what  the  wine  was.  The  man  remembered 
the  order,  and  saw  his  mistake  in  a  moment — he  could  only 
look  in  a  helpless  fashion  at  the  destroyed  bottle. 

"  Take  it  away  and  bring  what  I  ordered." 

When  he  had  gone,  Mr.  Miller  said, 

"  Now  that  will  teach  that  fellow  to  be  a  little  more  care- 
ful ;  that's  eight  shillings  he  has  lost  by  his  blunder." 

The  waiter,  not  looking  very  radiant,  came  back  with  the 
proper  wine,  and  the  dinner  went  on. 

"  What  wages  will  that  man  have  ? "  saia  Drummond. 
He,  too,  seemed  a  little  depressed. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  probably  a  guinea  a  week,  and  his  board 
and  clothes." 

"  He  may  have  a  wife  to  keep,  perhaps  }  " 

"  Possibly  he  may." 

"  Perhaps  she  may  have  children  and  a  small  household  to 
support  on  that  guinea  a  week  .''  " 

"  Very  likely." 

Drummond  remained  silent  for  some  little  time  ;  he  was 
not  getting  on  well  with  his  dinner.  At  last  he  fairly  flung 
down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  pushed  away  his  plate. 

"  Miller,  this  dinner  sticks  in  my  throat !  " 

The  younger  man  looked  up  amazed. 

"  What  is  it  >  " 

"  I  can't  sit  eating  and  drinking  here,  with  that  unfortunate 
devil  robbed  of  more  than  a  third  of  his  week's  earnings. 
I  can't  do  it — " 

"  Is  it  the  waiter  ?  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  I  will  put  that 
right  in  a  moment." 

He  would  do  any  thing  to  please  his  friend,  of  course. 
Pie  called  the  waiter  and  tcjjd  him  to  have  the  rejected  bottle 
of  wine  added  to  the  dinner-bill ;  the  man  went  away  with 
more  gratitude  in  his  face  than  he  dared  express  in  words. 

"  But  it  is  very  wrong,"  said  young  Miller,  gravely.    "You 


84  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

see  you  don't  understand  these  things,  Druminond — you 
don't  Hke  to  have  men  treated  Hke  machines — and  yet  if  you 
let  fine  feehngs  come  into  the  management  of  a  chib,  you'll 
simply  have  bad,  and  careless,  and  even  impertinent  ser- 
vants. There's  nothing  like  letting  them  suffer  the  conse- 
quences of  their  own  mistakes.  Haven't  we  to  do  the 
same  ?  And  who  pities  us  ?  Now,  isn't  there  common 
sense  in  that  .'*  " 

"  Oh  yes,  there's  a  deal  of  common  sense  in  that,"  said 
Drummond,  in  a  dry  and  serious  tone  which  always  irritated 
his  companion,  who  never  could  tell  whether  it  did  not  con- 
ceal some  trace  of  sarcasm. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  continued  Miller — he  was  pleased  to 
be  able  to  play  Gamaliel  himself  at  times — "  the  moment 
you  break  m  on  strict  discipline,  it  is  all  over  with  ser- 
vants in  a  club.  I  remember  a  pretty  instance  of  what  fol- 
lows from  familiarity,  and  friendly  feeling,  and  that  kind 
of  thing.  We  had  an  Oxford  parson  here — one  of  the  new 
school,  you  know — felt  hat,  thick  walking-stick,  long  tramps, 
a  hail-fellow-well-met  sort  of  fellow,  you  know,  and  a  devil  to 
smoke  pipes — and  he  used  to  interest  himself  in  the  affairs 
of  the  waiters,  and  chat  with  them  about  their  wives  and 
families.  Well,  look  here.  He  was  in  the  smoking-room 
one  evening — " 

The  face  of  Mr.  Miller  had  grown  properly  solemn.  He 
was  really  anxious  to  impress  on  his  friend  the  true  prin- 
ciples of  governing  waiters. 

"  He  was  in  the  smoking-room  one  evening,  and  we  were 
all  round  the  fire,  and  he  wanted  a  light.  A  waiter  had 
brought  up  some  things — I  suppose  he  was  one  of  his  pets — 
and  he  asked  this  waiter  to  bring  him  a  light.  There  were 
no  matches  on  the  table ;  and  what  does  this  fellow  do  but 
take  out  a  match-box  of  his  own,  get  hold  of  a  wax-match, 
strike  it  on  the  heel  of  his  boot — on  the  heel  of  his  boot — and 
hand  it  over  to  the  parson  ! " 

"  Good  heavens ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Drummond,  with  an 
awe-struck  face.  "And  what  happened.?  Did  the  earth 
open  and  swallow  up  that  fearful  man  ? " 

"Oh,  you  think  it  is  a  joke,"  said  young  Miller,  rather 
nettled  ;  "  I  don't,  anyway.  If  one  of  my  father's  servants 
did  that  to  me,  I  can  tell  you  he  wouldn't  be  three  minutes 
in  the  house.  And  no  servant  would  do  it,  mind  you,  if  he 
hadn't  been  made  careless  and  cheeky  by  overfamiliarity. 
By-the-way,  Lady  North  is  an  uncommon  good  one  to  look; 
after  her  servants."  .    .  . 


A  MESSAGE  HOME.  85 

"Lady  North?"  said  Drummond,  with  a  stare. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  with  complacency.  "Oh,  I  forgot 
to  tell  you,  I  fancy,  how  I  ran  across  them  at  a  picnic  at 
Twickenham ;  and  the  girls  are  very  plain,  don't  you  see, 
and  nobody  was  attending  to  them  much ;  and  so  I  became 
very  good  friends  with  them,  mother  and  all." 

"  Was  this  another  of  your  deeply  laid  schemes  ? "  said 
Drummond,  with  a  smile ;  thinking  of  the  ingenuous  way  in 
which  the  young  man  had  made  his  acquaintance. 

"  No,  it  was  not,  upon  my  honor,"  said  Miller.  "  I  knew 
they  were  to  be  there  ;  and  probably  I  should  not  have  gone 
if  I  had  not  known  ;  but  the  invitation  was  sent  to  me  with- 
out any  asking  or  arrangement  on  my  part,  and  Lady  North 
is  not  a  bad  sort  of  a  woman.  I  dined  with  the  family  and 
one  or  two  friends  the  other  evening.  She  is  rather  cut  and 
dried  you  know,  and  she  has  remarkably  sharp  gray  eyes  — 
by  jove !  I  can  tell  you,  the  servants  won't  have  much  of  a 
fling  in  that  house.  The  girls  are  very  plain — very ;  the  eld- 
est, Anatolia,  has  taken  rather  a  fancy  to  me,  I  believe — oh, 
you  needn't  laugh ;  it  is  no  great  compliment,  I  assure  you." 

And  so  he  let  the  garrulous  boy  run  on,  not  more  amused 
by  his  ingenuous  confessions  than  by  the  shrewd,  keen, 
practical  estimates  of  men  and  things  he  had  by  hap  hazard 
formed.  If  Mr.  Drummond  had  had  the  honor  of  Lady 
North's  acquaintance,  he  would  probably  have  taken  a  couple 
of  months  to  form  a  judgment  about  her ;  and  that  judgment 
would  have  been  founded  on  all  sorts  of  speculations  with 
regard  to  her  birth,  education,  temperament,  early  life,  and 
present  ambitions.  Young  Miller,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
seen  her  but  twice  or  thrice ;  he  positively  knew  nothing 
about  her ;  but  he  hit  on  a  very  shrewd  guess  as  to  her  ways, 
and  he  managed  to  convey  to  his  friend  a  pretty  clear  pic- 
ture of  the  short,  fair,  dignified,  stupid,  but  well-meaning  wo- 
man, whose  excessive  literalness,  and  consequent  suspicion — 
for  suspicion  is  the  substitute  employed  by  people  who  lack 
imagination  and  clear  perception — had  almost  driven  her 
step-daughter  crazy. 

"  And  what  about  Vi — about  Miss  North  ?  "  said  James 
Drummond,  rather  hesitatingly.  "  When  do  they  expect  her 
home  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  the  lovely  Anatolia  is  anxious  for  that  event, 
for  the  chances  of  her  ever  getting  married  won't  be  im- 
proved ;  but  she  says  her  eldest  sister,  as  she  invariably  calls 
her,  is  coming  home  very  soon  now.  Why,  it  is  nearly  two 
years  since  she  left !     I  wonder  what  she  will  be  like." 


86  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  What  she  will  be  like  ?  That  is  easily  answered.  What 
she  will  be,  that  is  of  more  importance,"  said  Drummond,  and 
for  a  second  or  two  he  sat  silent.  "She  will  have  grown  a 
woman  since  you  saw  her." 

"  But  you  don't  suppose  any  body  changes  completely  in  a 
couple  of  years  ?  "  exclaimed  Miller. 

"  Oh  no,  not  completely,"  said  his  companion,  rather  ab- 
sently. "  What  will  she  be  like  ?  Well,  in  appearance  very 
much  what  she  was — a  little  more  brave  and  self-possessed 
in  manner,  probably,  as  becomes  a  woman.  And  doubtless 
she  will  be  handsomer  than  ever.  But  as  to  what  sort  of  a 
woman  she  has  become  by  this  time — who  can  tell  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  suppose  there  can  be  much  difference,"  said 
young  Miller,  impatiently. 

His  friend  smiled  good-naturedly. 

"You  boys!"  he  said.  "It  is  always  the  one  notion  you 
have  got  into  your  head.  You  hope  she  has  remained  the 
same,  that  you  may  resume  that  piece  of  romanticism  that 
was  so  cruelly  broken  off.     Isn't  that  it  ?  " 

"Well  t  "  said  the  young  man,  ingenuously  and  modestly. 

"  You  think  the  school-girl  is  coming  back  to  play  at  sweet- 
hearting  again  t  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed.  A 
girl  grows  so  terribly — in  experience,  in  character,  in  aims — 
between  seventeen  and  twenty  !  Do  you  know.  Miller,  that 
you  will  have  to  introduce  yourself  to  a  new  Miss  North  }  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  other.  "  How  can  you  tell  ? 
Because  she  has  written  clever  letters  ?  But  every  body  is 
formal  in  letters ;  and  I  don't  suppose  she  talks  like  that." 

"  I  don't  suppose  she  does,"  said  Drummond,  apparently 
thinking  of  something  very  far  away  from  that  dinner-table  ; 
and  so  the  subject  dropped  for  the  moment. 

As  they  were  walking  along  Piccadilly  that  night,  Miller 
said, 

"  I  hear  that  Sir  Acton  North  is  a  very  rich  man." 

"  I  suppose  he  is,"  Drummond  answered. 

"  He  has  got  an  uncommonly  fine  collection  of  pictures  ; 
at  least  so  one  or  two  of  the  people  there  the  other  evening 
were  saying.  I'm  not  up  to  that  sort  of  thing.  By  Jove  !  if 
I  had  his  money,  I  shouldn't  spend  it  on  pictures  and  live  in 
Euston  Square.  How  much  do  you  think  he  will  give  his 
eldest  daughter  when  she  marries  ?  " 

Drummond  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  question !  Do  you  think  life  is 
long  enough  to  let  one  speculate  on  conundrums  like  that  ? 


A  MESSAGE  HOME.  87 

What  possible  interest  could  I  have  in  making  guesses  as  to 
Violet  North's  fortune  ?  " 

But  he  suddenly  recollected  himself.  He  looked  at  his 
companion  with  a  sort  of  surprised  curiosity  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  see  :  you — do  you  expect  to  have  an  interest  in  that 
question  ? " 

"I  say  nothing  about  myself,"  said  the  younger  man, 
rather  peevishly.  "  What  harm  is  there  in  asking  what 
money  a  girl  is  likely  to  have  1  Of  course,  I  expect  the  girl 
I  shall  marry,  whoever  she  may  be,  to  have  some  money.  I 
shall  have  some.  There  is  no  great  mercenariness  about 
that,  is  there  ?  It  appears  to  me  reasonable  enough.  You 
seem  to  think  that  any  one  on  this  side  of  thirty  must  have 
his  head  stuffed  full  of  romance  and  trash.  Well,  I  don't 
make  any  pretense  of  that  kind.  I  think  it  is  a  fair  bargain 
— you  bring  so  much  money  into  the  affair,  and  I  don't  see 
why  the  girl  shouldn't  also — just  as  the  woman  of  the  poorer 
classes  bring  a  chest  of  drawers  and  some  blankets.  It 
makes  a  woman  far  more  independent,  too.  She  can  indulge 
in  expensive  tastes,  and  charity,  and  all  that,  without  feeling 
that  she  is  drawing  too  hard  on  her  husband.  Now  what  do 
you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Drummond.     "  It  is  reasonable." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is  reasonable,"  said  young  Miller,  rather 
warmly.  "  And  don't  you  think  a  reasonable  woman  would 
have  the  same  notions  ?  A  school-girl,  of  course,  is  all  for 
love  and  love's  sake  alone,  and  moonlight,  and  rope-ladders. 
A  sensible  woman  knows  the  cost  of  a  house  in  Hyde  Park 
Square,  and  is  precious  glad  to  have  two  incomes  instead  of 
one  for  her  family." 

"  And  then,  you  see,  Violet  North  is  coming  back  a  sensi- 
ble woman,  not  a  school-girl,"  remarked  Mr.  Drummond, 
kindly  bringing  these  various  statements  to  a  legitimate  con- 
clusion. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  quite  mean  that,"  said  the  younger  man. 
"  not  at  all.  I  was  only  saying  that  when  I  married  I  should 
not  be  at  all  offended  if  the  girl  had  a  little  money  of  her 
own.  I  don't  suppose  I  am  more  mercenary  than  other  peo- 
ple ;  but  I  see  what  the  effect  is  of  starting  a  house  and 
family  on  the  income  that  was  all  very  well  for  a  bachelor's 
rooms." 

"  Quite  right ;  quite  right." 

Now  there  was  nothing  that  Mr.  Miller  disliked  so  much 
as  being  dismissed  in  this  fashion  when  he  was  trying  to  en- 
gage his  newly  formed  acquaintance  in  talk.     James  Drum- 


£8  MADCAP  VIOLET.. 

mond  scarcely  ever  agreed  with  any  body;  and  when  he 
briefly  said,  "  All  right,"  or  '•  Very  well ;  quite  true,"  it  was 
a  sure  sign  that  he  simply  would  not  take  the  trouble  to  enter 
into  the  subject.  Fortunately,  at  this  moment  they  had  just 
got  to  the  corner  of  Half  Moon  Street ;  so  they  separated, 
and  Drummond  got  into  a  hansom  and  made  for  home. 

It  was  about  a  fortnight  after  this  evening  that  young 
Miller  found  himself  the  guest  of  Mr.  Drummond  ;  and  the 
small  circle — which  now  included  little  Amy  Warrener,  who 
had  become  almost  a  young  lady — was  listening  to  the  dis- 
quisitions of  a  philosopher  who  shall  be  nameless.  He  was 
laboring  to  prove — or,  rather,  he  was  dogmatically  asserting 
— that  the  happy  man  was  he  who  could  forget  the  past  and 
disregarded  the  future,  fixing  his  attention  on  the  occupation 
of  the  moment,  and  taking  such  joys  as  came  in  his  way  with 
a  light  heart.  Why  think  of  the  long  drive  home  if  you  are 
at  the  theatre  ?  Why  think  of  the  next  day's  awakening  and 
work,  if  you  are  spending  a  pleasant  evening  .'*  The  philoso- 
pher in  question  maintained  that  this  banishment  of  antici- 
pation was  a  habit  which  could  be  cultivated  ;  and  that  a 
wise  man  would  resolve  to  acquire  so  invaluable  a  habit. 

"And  then,"  said  he,  contradicting  himself  with  happy 
carelessness,  *'  what  are  the  joys  of  the  moment  to  your  ex- 
pectations of  them  ?  Put  them  well  on  ahead  ;  give  yourself 
up  to  imagining  them  ;  and  you  will  reap  the  value  of  them 
twenty  times  over  before  they  arrive.  We,  for  example, 
mean  to  go  up  again  to  the  Highlands  this  autumn — " 

Here  a  young  lady  clapped  her  hands  with  joy. 

" — and  at  the  present  moment  the  Highlands  are  a 
greater  delight  to  me  than  they  will  be  then.  I  can  defy 
those  rushing  butchers'  carts,  those  inhuman  organ-men,  the 
fear  of  formal  calls,  by  jumping  off  into  the  Highlands,  and 
becoming  a  savage — a  real  out-and-out  savage,  careless  of 
wind  and  rain  and  sunlight,  and  determined  to  slay  all  the 
wild  animals  I  can  find  in  a  day's  tramping  over  the  heather — " 

"  Have  you  much  game  in  that  place  ?  "  asked  the  practi- 
cal Mr.  Miller. 

"  Plenty  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  cruel  frankness. 
"  But  he  never  hits  any  thing.  I  believe  we  should  never 
have  a  bird  or  a  har^  except  for  old  Peter." 

"  Libels — mere  libels,"  said  the  philosopher,  returning  to 
his  subject.  "Now  just  think  of  the  delight — here  in  this 
howling  wilderness  of  London — of  taking  out  your  gun,  and 
seeing  that  it  is  all  well  oiled  and  polished  ;  of  trying  en 
your  leggings  to  take  the  stiffness  out  of  them ;  of  hauling  out 


HOME.  89 

your  old  shooting-coat  and  finding  in  it  a  bill  telling  you 
at  v/hat  hour  the  coach  starts  for  the  Moor  of  Rannoch. 
Now,  this  is  real  delight.  I  snap  my  fingers  at  London.  I 
become  a  savage — " 

Just  at  this  moment  the  maid  tapped  at  the  door  and 
brought  in  a  letter.     Surely  he  knew  the  handwriting  ? 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  he,  hurriedly  breaking  open 
the  envelope,  "when  I  tell  you — yes,  I  thought  so — Violet 
North  is,  by  Jove,  in  London  !  " 

The  Highlands  were  forgotten  in  a  twinkling. 

"  Oh,  uncle,  when  is  she  coming  over  ?  "  cried  Miss  Amy, 
with  piteous  eyes. 

"  Already  back  in  London  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"  And  where  is  she  living  ? "  cried  young  Miller. 

Mr.  Drummond  stood  out  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  hold- 
ing the  folded  letter  up  in  the  air. 

"  Ha-ha,  my  young  people,  there  are  secrets  here.  Who 
will  bid  for  them  ?  A  thousand  mines  of  Golconda  the  first 
offer  !     No  advance  on  that  ? — why — " 

"  Well,  he  stopped  there — and  all  the  merry-making  went 
out  of  his  face — for  some  one  at  the  door  said,  quietly, 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

Amy  Warrener  was  the  first  to  answer  ;  and  her  answer 
was  a  quick,  sharp  cry  of  delight  as  she  sprung  to  the  door. 
Then  the  door  was  opened  ;  and  a  tall  young  lady  walked 
into  the  room,  with  wonder  and  gladness  and  shyness  on  her 
handsome  face. 


CHAPTER  XL 

HOME. 


For  a  second  or  two  she  was  smothered  up  in  the  embraces 
of  the  women ;  then  she  turned,  with  a  heightened  color  in 
her  face  and  a  glad  look  in  her  eyes,  but  with  a  wonderful 
grace  and  ease  and  dignity  in  her  manner,  to  Mr.  Drummond 
and  his  guest.  Amy  Warrener,  herself  ''  laughin'  maist  like 
to  greet,"  became  aware  in  an  instant  that,  although  this  was 
Violet  North  come  back  again,  she  was  not  quite  her  own 
Violet  of  former  days.  There  was  some  new  and  inexplicable 
quality  about  her  manner — a  sort  of  gracious  self-possession 
that  bespoke  the  development  of  w^omanhood. 

And  yet  it  was  with  all  a  girl's  vivacity  and  eager,  impetu- 


90  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

ous  curiosity  that  she  began  to  pour  out  questions.  She 
wanted  to  know  all  at  once  what  they  had  been  doing,  where 
her  school-girl  friends  were,  how  Miss  Main  was  getting  on ; 
and  then  she  suddenly  cried  out, 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  nice  it  is  to  be  at  home  again  ! 
and  I  could  not  feel  at  home  in  England  until  I  came  over 
here." 

"  And  don't  you  notice  any  changes  ?  "  Drummond  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  looking  more  particularly  at  him  ;  "  I 
scarcely  understand  it  all  yet.  It  is  like  a  dream  as  yet — 
such  a  change  from  what  I  expected." 

"  Two  years  make  a  difference,"  said  he.  "  We  have  not 
kept  stationary  any  more  than  you  have  ;  and  you  ! — why,  you 
have  grown  a  woman." 

"  Oh,  but  it  was  exactly  the  reverse  of  that  I  meant !  "  she 
said,  anxiously.  "  You  look  all  so  much  younger  than  I  ex- 
pected— except  Amy.  Why,  I  used  to  look  on  you,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond, as — as  rather — " 

"  As  rather  an  old  fellow  ! "  he  called  out,  with  a  shout  of 
laughter  over  her  embarrassment.  "  Well,  I  am  old  enough, 
"Violet,  to  warn  you  not  to  make  people  such  compliments  as 
these.     And  so  you  think  we  have  grown  younger  ?  " 

"  You  especially — oh,  so  much  !  " 

"And  I  also  } "  young  Miller  made  bold  to  ask,  though  he 
cast  down  his  eyes. 

Now  these  two  had  not  spoken  before.  When  she  came 
into  the  room,  she  glanced  at  him  with  some  surprise ;  then 
from  time  to  time,  she  let  her  eyes  fall  on  his  face  with  an 
expression  of  a  half-shy,  half-humorous  curiosity.  Now  she 
mustered  up  courage  to  look  him  straight  in  the  face  ;  and  a 
trifle  of  color  mounted  into  her  cheeks  as  she  answered,  in  a 
somewhat  low  and  embarrassed  way, 

"  I  am  afraid  I  scarcely  can  recollect  well  enough.  You 
know  our — our  acquaintance  was  very  short." 

So  she  had  not  even  taken  the  trouble  to  remember  him ! 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  rather  shortly,  "  you  made  enough 
friends  out  there  to  pass  the  time  with." 

"  I  forgot  none  of  my  friends  in  England,"  she  said,  gently. 
The  reproof  was  just :  he  had  no  ri^ht,  she  plainly  intimated, 
to  put  himself  on  a  level  with  these  old  friends  of  hers. 

By  this  time  the  little  party  had  got  better  shaken  together 
— the  first  eager  curiosity  being  over — and  now  Miss  Violet 
began  to  tell  them,  something  of  her  wonderful  adventures 
and  experiences.  But  the  strange  thing  was  that  the  recital 
mainly  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  Mr.  Drummond.     It  was  by 


HOME,  91 

the  exercise  of  a  curious,  swift,  subtle  sympathy  that  he  seemed 
to  divine  what  would  be  the  notions  of  a  girl  in  this  new 
country ;  and  as  she  went  on,  mentioning  this  circumstance 
and  the  other,  he  took  the  parable  out  of  her  mouth  and  made 
himself  the  interpreter.  No  one  noticed  that  he  did  so.  It 
seemed  to  be  Violet  North  herself  talking. 

"  Precisely,"  he  would  say,  "  I  quite  see  how  that  half-civil- 
ized life  must  have  struck  you.  Don't  you  see,  you  were  get- 
ting then  some  notion  of  how  the  human  race  began  to  fight 
with  nature  long  before  cities  were  built.  You  saw  them 
clearing  the  woods,  making  roads,  building  houses,  founding 
small  communities.  You  saw  the  birth  of  villages,  and  the 
formation  of  states.  You  saw  the  beginnings  of  civilization, 
as  it  were,  and  the  necessity  of  mutual  helpfulness  among 
the  settlers,  and  the  general  rough-and-ready  educations  of 
such  a  life.  Don't  you  think  it  must  have  been  a  valuable 
experience  to  find  out  how  thoroughly  new  life  can  be  ?  Here 
in  London,  I  have  no  doubt,  you  got  it  into  your  head  that 
the  houses  and  shops  must  have  existed  there  forever  ;  that 
the  trains  to  Ludgate  Hill  and  Victoria  were  a  necessary  part 
of  the  world  ;  that  all  the  elaborate  institutions  and  habits  of 
city  life  were  fixed  and  unalterable — " 

"And  then  it  was  so  interesting,  in  these  places,  to  find 
out  what  sorts  of  food  they  had ;  I  got  quite  learned  in  crops — " 

"Ah,  yes,  precisely.  There  you  saw  food  at  its  fountain- 
head,  not  in  blue  packets  in  a  grocer's  shop.  And  of  course 
every  man  would  have  a  pride  in  his  own  fields,  and  ask  you 
what  you  thought  of  his  crops,  and  you  would  come  to  see 
something  else  in  a  landscape  than  the  mere  colors  that  an 
English  young  lady  would  see.  The  cattle — did  you  begin  to 
learn  something  of  the  points  of  the  cattle  ? " 

She  had  to  confess  her  ignorance  in  that  direction. 

"  Then  the  wilder  and  fiercer  cattle,  Violet :  go  on  and  tell 
us  of  buffaloes,  and  grizzlies,  and  mustangs — I  have  loved  the 
word  mustang  ever  since  I  was  a  boy.  Gracious  me  !  how  I 
long  for  the  life  of  a  savage — for  prairies,  and  war-trails,  and 
squaws,  and  moccasins :  Violet,  did  you  ever  snare  a  brace  of 
moccasins  when  you  were  meandering  about  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains ?" 

"  If  I  were  you,"  she  said,  with  a  sweet  sarcasm,  "  I  would 
say  'moccasins,'  not  *  moccasins  !  " 

"  Thus  it  is  she  crushes  with  her  newly  found  knowledge. 
But  we  are  willing  to  learn.  Violet,  you  shall  teach  us  all  about 
assegais  and  boomerangs — but  those  don't  belong  to  America, 
do  they  ? — and  we  shall  admire  the  noble  savage." 


92  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  You  were  talking  of  the  delights  of  a  savage  life — in  the 
Highlands — just  before  Miss  North  came  in  to  surprise  us," 
said  Mr.  Miller. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Miss  North,  suddenly,  "  why  didn't  you  go  to 
the  Highlands  last  year.?  I  thought  you  had  determined  to 
go  every  year,  after  your  first  experience  the  year  before  last." 

*'The  truth  is — "  said  Mr.  Drummond,  with  some  embarrass- 
ment. 

Young  Miller  broke  in, — proud  to  be  able  to  convey  informa- 
tion. 

"  He  won't  tell  you.  Miss  North.  The  fact  is,  he  went  and 
gave  his  holiday-money  to  a  clergyman's  widow  to  take  her  fam- 
ily down  to  the  sea-side ;  and  if  you  ask  my  opinion  about  it, 
I  think  it  was  much  too  much  of  a  good  thing.  I  don't  see  the 
fun  of—" 

"  Violet,  what  did  you  think  of  New  York  ? "  said  Drummond, 
quickly. 

The  girl  laughed  :  she  knew  he  was  not  anxious  to  know 
her  opinion  of  New  York. 

"  But  you  are  going  this  year  to  the  Highlands  ?  "  she  said. 

*'\Ve  hope  so." 

"I  wish  I  were  going  with  you,"  the  girl  said,  simply  and 
naturally. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  ? "  said  Mr.  Miller,  boldly. 

It  was  a  pretty  project  that  he  then  and  there  formed, 
Miss  North  would  go  up  to  that  shooting-box  with  her  friends, 
and  pleasant  indeed  would  be  the  parties  they  would  have  in 
the  evening,  when  the  toils  of  the  day  were  over.  And  if  a  cer- 
tain young  man  should  happen  to  be  in  the  neighborhood — by 
the  merest  chance,  of  course — could  so  hospitable  and  gener- 
ous and  kindly  a  fellow  as  Mr.  Drummond  was  refuse  to  offc  r 
him  a  few  days'  shooting  ?  Then  there  would  be  odd  mo- 
ments now  and  again  for  clambering  up  hills,  in  order  to  sit  on 
the  sunlit  rocks  and  listen  to  the  humming  of  the  bees,  or  for 
quiet  and  pensive  strolls  along  the  valleys  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening  with  the  mountains  losing  the  last  fire  of  the  sunset, 
and  a  white  mist  gathering  along  the  bed  of  the  distant  loch. 
Mr,  Miller  looked  anxiously  for  an  answer  to  this  proposal. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  ?  "  echoed  Mr.  Drummond.  "  We  will 
make  you  welcome  enough." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  indeed,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  ;  "  but 
I  am  under  proper  government  now.  Lady  North  means  to 
try  to  put  up  with  me  as  well  as  she  can  ;  and  my  sisters  almost 
succeeded  this  morning  in  making  me  believe  they  liked  me. 
So  I  am  to  stay  on  there ;  and  I  suppose,  in  consequence,  we 


HOME.  93 

shall  move  westward  some  clay  soon.  That  will  be  hard  on 
poor  papa ;  for  he  will  shift  his  house  all  for  nothing — " 

"  Why,  Violet  ? " 

"  Oh,"  said  the  young  lady,  with  her  ordinary  cool  frank- 
ness, "  Lady  North  and  I  are  sure  to  have  a  fight — quite  sure. 
I  think  her  a  mean-spirited  and  tricky  little  woman  ;  she  thinks 
that  I  have  a  frightfully  bad  temper :  so  it  will  be  just  as  it  was 
before." 

"  There  you  are  quite  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  quietly. 
"  It  will  not  be  as  it  was  before,  but  very  different.  Do  you 
know  what  people  will  say  of  you  now,  if  you  and  Lady  North 
don't  agree  ?  Why,  that  you  have  such  a  bad  temper  that  you 
can  not  live  in  your  father's  house." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  true  enough,"  she  said,  with  great  mod- 
esty ;  and  Amy  Warrener  saw  something  in  her  mischievous 
smile  of  the  Violet  of  other  days. 

"And  then,"  continued  her  Mentor,  "formerly,  when  you 
had  a  quarrel,  you  could  live  at  Miss  Main's  school.  Where 
would  you  go  now  t     Not  to  school  again  ?  " 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  said,  with  a  bright  look,  "  don't  let  us  talk 
of  all  those  unpleasant  things  now  ;  for  I  am  so  glad  to  get 
back  and  be  among  you  again,  that  I  am  disposed  to  be  hum- 
ble and  obedient  even  to  my  step-mother.  And  she  is  really 
trying  to  be  very  kind  to  me  just  now.  I  am  to  keep  the 
brougham  to-night  till  eleven  o'clock,  if  you  don't  turn  me  out 
before  then.  And  Lady  North  is  coming  over  to  call  on  you, 
Mrs.  Warrener  ;  and  she  wants  you  all  to  come  to  her  next 
'At  Home'  on  the  30th.  I  think  you  have  got  a  card,  Mr. 
Miller?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  some  embarrassment.  "  Do  you  think 
your  father  would  object  to  my  going?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  she  answered,  confidently.  "  Papa  never 
keeps  up  old  scores  ;  and,  as  well  as  I  can  recollect,  you — 
you — seemed  to  have  pleased  him  by  going  to  him  frankly. 
How  silly  we  were  !  "  she  added,  quickly,  and  with  a  return 
of  the  warm  color  to  her  cheeks. 

They  got  away  from  that  subject  also,  however,  and  no 
other  reference  was  made  to  it.  The  girl  was  altogether  de- 
lighted to  be  with  her  old  friends  again  ;  and  the  changes  she 
had  noticed  on  her  entrance  became  less  prominent  now.  She 
submitted,  just  as  she  had  done  in  her  school-girl  days  to  be 
alternately  lectured,  teased,  and  laughed  at  by  Mr.  Drum- 
mond ;  and  she  did  not  mind  his  continually  calling  her  Vio- 
let. She  made  Mrs  Warrener  promise  to  bring  them  all  to 
Lady  North's  party.     She  would  have  Amy  come  with  her  for 


94  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

her  first  drive  in  the  park,  where,  as  her  father  had  concent- 
ed,  she  should  herself  drive  Lady  North's  victoria  and  pair 
of  ponies. 

Mr.  Miller  got  the  least  share  of  her  attention.  These  two 
rarely  spoke  to  each  other,  and  then  never  without  a  little 
embarrassment ;  but  very  frequently  she  had  a  quiet,  curious 
look  at  him,  apparently  trying  to  discover  something.  As  for 
him,  he  simply  sat  and  stared  at  her — watching  her  every 
movement,  fascinated  by  her  voice,  her  smile,  the  bright,  frank 
look  of  those  darkly  lashed  eyes.  But  a  great  joy  was  in  store 
for  him.  For  some  purpose  or  other,  she  took  from  her 
pocket  a  small  pencil,  but  found  it  was  broken. 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  get  it  mended  for  you,"  said  he,  eagerly. 
"  I  know  a  man  who  is  capital  for  that." 

"  Is  is  worth  it  "i  "  said  she,  handing  it  over. 

His  reply  was  to  take  from  his  pockel  a  beautiful  little  pen 
and  pencil-case,  with  a  knife  attached ;  and  this  he  begged 
her  to  accept  in  exchange,  as  it  was  better  fitted  for  a  lady 
than  for  him. 

*'  In  exchange  ? "  she  said,  with  a  smile  that  was  to  him 
more  than  a  thousand  pencil-cases.  "That  would  be  a  prof- 
itable exchange.  This  one  is  gold ;  mine  is  aluminium. 
Thank  you,  but  I  could  not  rob  you." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,  you  can  keep  it  until  I  return  you  this 
one  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  "  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

He  put  that  humble  little  pencil-case — worth  about  five 
shillings — in  his  pocket  with  as  much  pride  as  if  it  had  been 
made  of  ivory  and  diamonds  ;  and  he  secretly  vowed  that  she 
should  never  see  it  again,  even  if  she  lived  for  a  thousand 
years. 

Then,  in  the  old  familiar  fashion  of  spending  the  evening 
which  Violet  knew  so  well,  Mary,  the  maid-servant,  came  in 
with  the  frugal  supper ;  and  there  was  great  amusement  over 
her  wonder  at  seeing  Miss  North. 

"  How  are  you,  Mary  ?  Are  you  quite  well  ? "  said  that 
young  lady,  who  was  a  great  friend  of  all  the  maid-servants 
and  folks  in  humble  capacity. 

"  Oh  yes,  miss,"  stammered  Mary  ;  "  I  mean,  ma'am — I  am 
pretty  well,  thank  you." 

"  Now,  there  is  but  one  question  more  I  have  to  ask,"  said 
Violet,  as  they  all  sat  round  the  small  white-covered  table, 
*'and  I  am  almost  afraid  to  ask  it.  Have  they  built  over 
Grove  Park  yet  ? " 

"  Certainly  not,"  was  the  answer. 


HOME.  ■  95 

"  And  the  big  cedars  are  still  there,  and  the  tall  elms,  and 
the  rook's  nests  ?  " 

"  Not  a  thing-  altered  since  you  left." 

*'  Ah,  well !  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  when  I  used  to 
think  of  the  happiest  time  I  ever  spent  in  England,  and  the 
most  beautiful  place  I  could  remember,  I  always  thought  of 
those  Christmas  holidays  I  spent  with  you,  and  of  our  walks 
at  night  in  the  snov/.  Do  you  remember  how  we  used  to  go 
out  quite  late  at  night,  with  the  hard  snow  crackling  beneath 
one's  feet,  the  gas-lamps  shining  on  the  trees,  and  then  go 
away  into  the  park,  through  the  darkness  of  those  cedars 
near  the  gate?  Then  I  used  to  think  of  the  silence  we  got 
into — by  the  side  of  the  meadows  :  one  seemed  to  be  up  quite 
close  to  the  stars,  and  you  could  not  imagine  there  was  any 
body  living  in  those  two  or  three  houses.  And  as  for  London 
— though  it  lay  almost  under  our  feet — you  know,  you  could 
see  or  hear  nothing  of  it — there  was  nothing  all  around  but 
the  white  snow,  and  the  black  trees,  and  stars.  Do  you  re- 
member all  that  ?  " 

"  But  where  is  it .'' "  said  young  Miller,  looking  puzzled. 
Could  she  be  talking  so  enthusiastically  about  some  place  in 
Camberwell  ? 

"  Over  the  way,"  she  said,  promptly.  "  Plve  minutes'  walk 
off." 

"  And  that  is  the  most  beautiful  place  you  can  remember  ?  " 
said  he.     "  And  you  have  been  to  Chamounix  t  " 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  she  said,  boldly.  "  I  like  Camberwell  better 
than  Chamounix,  and  therefore  it  is  more  beautiful.  But  I 
was  speaking  of  the  snow-time,  and  the  stars,  and  the  quiet 
of  the  frosty  nights.  Perhaps  you  have  never  been  into 
Grove  Park  t     If  you  walk  round  that  way  now — " 

"  I  propose  we  do,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "  as  soon  as  we 
finish  supper.  I  am  anxious  to  discover  what  it  is  in  the 
place  that  makes  it  the  rival  of  Chamounix. 

"  Don't  you  remember }  "  she  said,  with  great  disappoint- 
ment visible  in  her  face. 

"  I  remember  the  wonderful  starlit  nights  and  the  snow, 
certainly,"  said  he. 

"  Very  well,"  said  she,  "  weren't  they  Vv'orth  remembering? 
As  to  Chamounix — well,  as  to  Chamounix — what  can  one 
remember  of  Chamounix  ?  I  know  what  I  remember — 
crowded  fables-dWiote,  hot  walks  in  stifling  valleys,  firing  cannon, 
and  looking  through  a  telescope,  and  all  the  ladies  trying  who 
could  get  up  the  most  striking  costumes  for  dinner.  To  go 
about  a  place  like  that  with  a  lot  of  people  you  don't  like — " 


96  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Here,  for  some  occult  reason,  Mr.  Drummond  burst  into  a 
most  impertinent  fit  of  laughing. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said,  with  her  color  rising,  "I  am  not 
ashamed  to  own  it.  I  liked  the  people  with  whom  I  went 
walking  about  Grove  Park.  If  that  has  any  thing  to  do  with 
it,  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  for  the  sake  of  the  park." 

"  And  they  were  very  fond  of  you  too,  Violet,"  said  her  old 
school-fellow.  Amy,  with  unexpected  decision.  "  And  you  are 
quite  right.  And  I  would — I  would  hate  Chamounix,  if  I 
were  you." 

"Why,  child,  what  do  you  know  about  Chamounix.^"  her 
mother  said. 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  anything  about  it — I  hate  it." 

So  that  closed  the  discussion,  which  had  ended  in  a  unani- 
mous decision  that  Chamounix  was  a  miserable  and  despicable 
place  as  compared  with  a  certain  chosen  spot  in  Camberwell. 

Now,  if  Miss  North's  love  and  admiration  for  Grove  Park 
were  largely  based  on  the  romantic  conditions  in  which  she 
remembered  to  have  seen  the  place,  surely  Mr.  Miller's  im- 
pressions were  likely  to  be  equally  favorable.  For  when  they 
went  outside  into  the  cold  night  air  there  was  an  appearance 
in  the  sky  overhead  that  told  how  the  moon  was  visible  some- 
where ;  and  they  knev/  that  when  they  got  round  into  the 
high  and  open  spaces  of  the  park  a  vast  and  moonlit  land- 
scape would  be  unrolled  before  their  eyes.  Miss  Violet  and 
Mrs.  Warrener  led  the  way ;  naturally  the  discoverer  of  this 
wonderful  place  was  pioneer.  There  was  scarcely  any  one 
about ;  the  footfalls  of  the  small  jDarty  were  plainly  heard  in 
the  silence  of  the  grove.  Then  they  reached  the  gloomy 
portals  of  the  park — gloomy  because  of  the  cedars  about 
— and  then  they  left  the  region  of  bright  gas-lamps,  and 
passed  in  and  through  the  darkness  of  the  overhanging  trees. 

The  night  was  indeed  a  beautiful  one,  though  as  yet  they" 
had  not  seen  the  moon.  The  sky  overhead  was  clear,  and 
full  of  pale  stars  ;  in  the  south  a  lambent  planet  was  shining. 
Plow  solemnly  stood  the  great  trees,  their  spreading  branches 
of  a  jet  black  against  the  far  off  vault  of  blue,  not  a  rustle  of 
their  leaves  breaking  the  deep  stillness.  There  was  a  scent 
of  hay  in  the  air,  one  of  the  meadows  adjoining  having  just 
been  cut. 

When  at  length  they  had  reached  the  highest  portion  of 
the  park,  and  got  by  one  or  two  tall  and  silent  houses,  behold  ! 
they  came  upon  a  wonderful  spectacle.  No  dramatic  surprise 
could  have  been  more  skillfully  arranged  ;  for  they  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  clear  and  serene  darkness   of  the 


HOME.  97 

night,  and  the  twinkUng  of  the  pale  stars,  and  the  motionless 
blackness  of  the  lofty  trees,  and  had  no  further  expectation. 
But  all  at  once  they  found  before  them,  as  they  looked  away 
over  to  Sydenham,  a  great  moonlit  space  ;  the  air  filled  with 
a  strange  pale  glamour  that  seemed  to  lie  over  the  broad 
valley ;  while  the  full  yellow  moon  herself  hung  like  a  great 
globe  of  fire  immediately  over  a  long,  low  line  of  hill  stretch- 
ing across  the  southern  horizon.  These  heights,  lying  under 
this  glory  of  moonlight,  would  have  seemed  dusks,  mystic, 
and  remote,  but  that  here  and  there  glittered  bright  spots  of 
yellow  fire,  telling  of  houses  hidden  among  trees,  and  over- 
looking the  wide  plan.  It  was  a  wonderful  panorama  :  the 
burning  stars  of  gold  on  the  shadowy  heights,  the  full  yellow 
moon  in  the  violet-gray  sky,  the  pale  light  over  the  plain,  and 
the  black  trees  close  at  hand,  the  southward-looking  branches 
of  which  were  touched  here  and  there  by  the  mild  radiance. 
Then  the  extreme  silence  of  the  place — as  if  that  were  a 
pageant  all  lighted  up  in  an  uninhabited  world — the  cold, 
sweet  night  air — the  mystery  and  sadness  of  the  stars. 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Drummond,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  does  not 
matter  whether  it  is  Camberwell  or  Chamounix ;  you  get 
very  close  to  heaven  on  a  night  like  this." 

Young  Miller  felt  that  in  his  heart  too,  for  he  was  standing 
beside  Violet  North  ;  and  as  she  was  gazing  away  down  into 
the  south,  with  absent  and  wistful  eyes,  he  could  watch  with 
impunity  the  beautiful  outlines  of  her  face,  now  touched  with 
a  pale  and  mystic  light.  He  wished  to  speak  to  her,  and 
yet  he  was  afraid  to  break  the  strange  stillness.  She  did  not 
seem  to  be  aware  of  his  presence  ;  but  it  was  with  a  secret 
thrill  of  pleasure  that  from  time  to  time  his  fingers  were 
touched  by  the  corner  of  the  light  shawl  she  wore. 

"  Is  this  as  fine  as  what  you  remember  ? "  he  said  to  her, 
at  length,  in  a  low  voice. 

She  seemed  to  try  to  collect  herself.  She  looked  at  him 
and  said  "  Yes  ;  "  but  presently  he  saw  her  turn  her  head 
away,  and  he  had  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  great  tears 
that  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"  Young  Miller,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  as  they  walked  back, 
"  we  have  beaten  down  your  Chamounix  ;  we  have  destroyed 
Mont  Blanc  ;  the  Glacier  des  Boissons  is  no  more." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  the  young  man,  humbly ;  "  I  give  in." 

Now,  when  Violet  got  back  to  the  house,  she  found  her  fa- 
ther's brougham  at  the  door,  and  she  would  not  enter  with 
them.  But  she  said  to  Mr.  Miller,  who  happened  to  be  her 
companion  at  the  moment, 


98  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  have  some  little  presents  for  my  friends  here  ;  would 
you  kindly  take  them  in  for  me  ? " 

There  was,  after  all,  some  school-girl  shyness  about  this 
young  lady ;  she  had  not  had  the  courage  to  offer  them  the 
presents  herself.  And  how  gladly  he  undertook  the  commis- 
sion !  He  was  proud  to  have  her  confidence  in  this  small 
matter. 

Then  she  bid  good-bye  to  them  all.  She  was  a  little  si- 
lent as  she  left;  it  was  like  going  away  once  more  from 
home. 

"  Then  I  shall  see  you  on  the  30th,"  said  George  Miller, 
looking  at  her  rather  timidly. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  simply  ; 
and  then  she  drove  away. 

He  carried  the  parcels  into  the  house  ;  they  were  all  neatly 
wrapped  up  and  addressed.  He  undertook  the  business  of 
opening  them  and  displaying  their  contents  ;  and  lo !  there 
was  on  the  table  a  wonderful  assortment  of  gifts,  with  the 
fancy  of  a  girl  apparent  in  them.  For  she  had  brought  strange 
Indian  pipes,  decorated  with  silver  and  colors  and  silk,  for 
Mr.  Drummond,  and  a  little  case  containing  a  couple  of  re- 
volvers with  ivory  and  silver  handles  ;  and  there  were  fans 
and  a  marvelous  shawl  for  Mrs.  Warrener  ;  and  there  was  an 
extraordinary  necklet  of  pale  coral,  with  bracelets  and  what 
not,  for  her  daughter.  James  Drummond,  gazing  with  aston- 
ishment at  this  goodly  show,  pronounced  an  oration  over 
them. 

"  There  was  once  upon  a  time,"  said  he,  "  a  company  of 
poor  folk  sitting  very  disconsolate  in  a  room  together,  and 
they  had  grown  rather  gloomy,  and  tired  of  the  dullness  and 
grayness  of  life.  And  all  at  once  there  appeared  to  them  a 
fairy  princess,  wdth  a  beautiful  smile  on  her  face  ;  and  she 
came  among  them  and  talked  to  them,  and  all  the  sadness 
went  out  of  their  hearts,  and  she  cheered  them  so  that  they 
began  to  think  that  life  was  quite  enjoyable  and  lovely  again. 
And  when  she  went  away,  what  did  they  find  ?  Why,  she 
had  left  behind  her,  without  saying  a  word  about  it,  all  man- 
ner of  precious  and  beautiful  things,  and  the  poor  folk  were 
almost  afraid  to  touch  them,  in  case  they  should  crumble 
away.  But  they  didn't  crumble  away  at  all ;  for  she  was  a 
real,  live,  human  fairy ;  and  hadn't  she  promised  to  come 
back,  too,  and  cheer  them  up  a  bit  now  and  again .''  Young 
Miller,  I  am  sorry  she  did  not  expect  to  see  you  too." 

The  young  man  pulled  out  the  aluminium  pencil-case 
proudly. 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT. 


99 


"  Look  at  that,"  said  he,  "  and  that  belonged  to  herself y 

"Now,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  kindly  smile, 
"What  about  her  being  hardened  by  all  the  railway-peo- 
ple ?  " 

"  And  oh,  how  pretty  she  is  !  and  she  is  more  beautiful 
than  ever !  "  cried  Amy,  rather  incoherently. 

Young  Miller  was  silent  for  a  second  or  two.  "  I  suppose," 
said  he,  rather  gloomily,  "  if  she  stays  with  her  father  now, 
she  will  be  going  about  a  great  deal,  and  seeing  lots  of  peo- 
ple. If  she  drives  in  the  Park,  every  one  will  get  to  know 
who  she  is.  How  easy  it  is  for  girls  to  have  their  heads 
turned  by  the  attention  they  get !  " 

"  It  will  take  a  great  deal  to  turn  Violet's  head,"  said  Mrs. 
Warrener,  gently.      "  There  is  plenty  of  shrewdness  in  it." 

When  Mr.  Miller  set  out  to  walk  over  to  Sydenham  Hill 
that  evening,  the  notions  that  went  whirling  through  his 
brain  were  alternately  disquieting  and  pleasing.  Had  he  not 
this  treasure  of  a  pencil  transferred  from  her  pocket  to  his } 
She  had  breathed  upon  it  many  a  time  ;  she  had  held  it  in  her 
white,  small  fingers ;  perchance  she  may  in  an  absent 
moment  have  put  it  up  to  her  lips.  It  was  a  fair,  still,  moon- 
light night ;  he  took  out  the  bit  of  aluminium  as  if  it  had  been 
a  talisman,  and  kissed  it  a  hundred  times.  Then  had  she 
not  admitted  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him  on  this  approach- 
ing evening?  And  already  another  day  was  about  to  begin, 
to  lessen  the  long  procession  of  dates.  It  was  true  that  she 
was  very  beautiful  and  very  proud ;  she  would  have  lots  of 
admirers.  Lady  North  was  fond  of  society ;  Violet  would 
meet  all  manner  of  strangers  ;  they  would  know  that  her  fa- 
ther was  a  rich  man  ;  and  they  would  be  eager  to  win  the  af- 
fections of  a  girl  who  had  beauty,  money,  every  thing  to  be- 
stow. The  wonderful  moonlit  landscape  was  not  so  lovely  now, 
since  she  had  driven  away.  The  orange  points  of  fire  on 
the  heights  were  almost  extinguished.  The  world  generally 
had  grown  less  fairy-like  ;  but  still  he  was  to  meet  her  in  less 
than  a  fortnight's  time. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

WALPURGIS-NIGHT. 


On  the  very  next  afternoon,  Lady  North  and  Violet  paid 
the  promised  visit  to  Mrs  Warrener.     Unluckily,  James  Drum- 


lOO  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

mond  was  not  in  the  house ;  but  his  sister  had  enough  of  his 
shrewdness  of  perception  to  see  how  httle  hkely  it  was  that 
this  step-mother  and  step-daughter  should  ever  agree — the 
one  a  prim,  dignified,  matter-of-fact  Httle  woman,  who  had  a 
curious  watchful  and  observant  look  in  her  cold  gray  eyes,  and 
a  certain  affected  stateliness  of  manner ;  the  other,  a  proud, 
impetuous  girl,  who  had  the  bitterest  scorn  of  all  pretense, 
and  an  amazing  frankness  in  showing  it. 

Lady  North,  so  far  as  her  formal  manner  would  allow,  was 
profuse  in  her  apologies  to  Mrs.  Warrener  for  the  short  no- 
tice she  had  given  her ;  and  now  it  appeared  that  what  Violet 
had  modestly  called  an  "  at  home  "  was  in  reality  a  fancy- 
dress  ball.  Mr.  Miller  had  also  been  modest  in  the  matter  ; 
and  had  not  told  his  friends  of  his  having  received  an  invita- 
tion. 

"  It  is  so  short  a  time,"  said  Violet,  "  but  I  am  sure  you 
will  come,  Mrs.  Warrener — and  Amy  too — " 

"  Not  Amy,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  gentle  little  house-mother, 
with  a  smile.  "  My  only  doubt,  Lady  North,  is  about  my 
brother.  I  am  afraid  a  fancy-dress  ball  would  not  quite  fall 
in  with  his  habits." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  Violet,  with  the  air  of  a 
woman  of  the  world,  "  it  does  not  accord  with  any  body's 
habits  ;  but  it  is  merely  a  harmless  piece  of  fun,  that  even 
very  wise  people  like.  You  have  no  idea  how  pleased  he 
will  be  by  the  show  of  beautiful  costumes.  And  I  know  he 
will  come  if  you  say  that  I  particularly  asked  him.  We  shall 
have  quite  a  party  by  ourselves,  you  know — Mr.  Miller  is 
coming." 

"  And  what  would  be  his  dress  .''  "  asked  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Violet ;  and  then  she  added,  with  a  sort 
of  mischievous  smile,  "  Tell  him  to  come  as  Romeo.  Would  he 
not  look  well  as  Romeo  ?  Now  do,  Mrs.  Warrener,  tell  him 
that  I  wish  him  to  come  as  Romeo." 

"  Very  well,  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  smile  ;  but 
she  shook  her  head  all  the  time — the  school-girl  had  not  wholly 
left  this  young  lady. 

Now,  strange  to  say,  Mr.  Drummond  accepted  the  invitation 
with  eagerness  and  delight — it  happened  to  strike  some  fanc3\ 
In  a  second  he  was  full  of  schemes  of  costume.  He  would 
go  as  this,  he  would  go  as  that ;  his  sister  must  be  Pharaoh's 
Daughter,  must  be  Consuelo,  must  be  Lady  Jane  Gray.  In 
imagination  he  tumbled  all  the  centuries  together  ;  and  played 
hop,  skip,  and  jump  through  history.  In  the  end  he  was 
forced  to  confess  that  he  did  not  know  what  to  do. 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  loi 

There  came  to  his  aid  a  practical  young-  man,    •  ■ 

"  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  said  George  Miller,  with 
a  superior  air.  "  You  come  with  me  to  a  man  in  Bow. Street  : 
he  will  show  you  colored  plates  ;  you  can  have  a  dress  made 
for  you ;  or  you  can  see  what  he  has.  I  will  go  with  you  :  he 
will  charge  you  ever  so  much  too  much  if  you  let  him." 

"  And  you — have  you  got  your  dress  ?  "  asked  Drummond, 
with  a  modest  air,  of  this  experienced  person. 

"  It  is  being  made,"  said  he,  carelesslv.  "  I  am  going  as 
Charles  I." 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you  as  regards  that,"  said  Mrs.  War- 
rener,  looking  at  him  in  her  quiet  and  humorous  way.  "  Vio- 
let was  over  here  yesterday.  She  bid  me  tell  you  you  must 
go  to  the  ball  as  Romeo." 

All  the  carelessness  went  out  of  the  young  man's  manner 
in  a  second. 

"  No  !  "  said  he.     "  Did  she,  really  ?     It  is  not  a  joke  ? " 

"  I  have  delivered  the  message  as  I  got  it." 

"  By  Jove !  Then  I  must  telegraph  to  them  to  stop  the 
Charles  I.  dress — oh,  I  don't  care  whether  I  have  to  pay  for 
it  or  not ! — in  any  case,  I  will  go  as  Romeo."  And  then  he 
added,  quickly,  with  a  flush  in  his  face,  "  Don't  you  think  the 
joke  a  good  one  1  She  was  making  fun,  of  course  ;  but  what 
a  joke  it  will  be  to  surprise  her?  " 

Forthwith  it  was  arranged  that  these  three  should  make  up 
a  little  party  to  go  to  Bov/  Street ;  and  on  their  way  thither  it 
almost  seemed  as  if  Mr.  Drummond  had  gone  out  of  his  senses. 
Young  Miller  did  not  understand  this  kind  of  thing.  Imag- 
inary conversation  between  discarded  costumes  about  the 
character  of  their  successive  wearers !  Ghosts  getting  into 
a  costumier's  repository,  and  having  a  fancy-dress  ball  by 
phosphorescent  light !  He  treated  such  nonsense  with  impa- 
tience ;  he  would  rather  have  understood  clearly  what  dress 
Mr.  Drummond  proposed  to  wear. 

Then,  even  in  the  presence  of  the  grave  and  puzzled  costu- 
mier., also  !  Young  Miller,  as  a  shrewd  and  practical  person, 
perceived  that  this  was  a  matter  of  business,  and  not  a  subject 
for  all  manner  of  whimsical  absurdities.  Where  was  the  fun 
of  bewildering  a  costu?7tier,  when  that  worthy  person  was  pa- 
tiently turning  over  the  colored  plates  ? 

"  Mercutio,"  said  Drummond.  "  Is  that  Mercutio  ?  How 
plump  and  well-favored  he  is  !  I  always  loved  Mercutio — but 
I  did  not  know  he  was  so  good-looking.  They  say  Shakspeare 
killed  him  because  he  could  not  keep  up  the  supply  of  jokes 
that  Mercutio  needed.     They  might  as  well  say  that  God  took 


102  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

and  plunged  the  rivers  into  the  sea  lest  there  shouldn't  be 
enough  water  left  on  Und  for  a  long  river-course.  That's  why 
tl^  riy^rs  always  ;i:ake  the  nearest  way  ;  and  that's  why  poor 
old  Mercutio  was  killed." 

Now  what  was  the  good  of  talking  like  that  to  this  puzzled 
tradesman  and  artist  ?  Young  Miller  had  continually  to  keep 
saying. 

"  And  how  much  would  that  be — in  blue  satin  and  velvet, 
for  example  ?  " 

It  was  indeed  very  lucky  for  these  two  that  Mr.  Miller  had 
gone  with  them  ;  for,  in  the  end,  when  they  had  finally  made 
their  choice,  he  suggested  an  arrangement  which  lessened  the 
proposed  cost  by  more  than  one-half.  The  costumes  were  to 
be  made  according  to  sketches  whidi  Mr.  Drummond  was  to 
supply ;  but  they  were  to  remain  the  property  of  the  costumkr  ; 
and  only  their  temporary  use  to  be  charged  for.  Not  only 
Mr.  Drummond,  but  also  his  sister,  who  had  more  to  do  with 
accounts,  was  quite  impressed  by  the  business-like  way  in 
which  Mr.  Miller  drew  up  and  ratified  this  contract. 

One  evening  that  little  garden  in  Camberwell  saw  a  strange 
sight.  It  was  nearly  dusk ;  under  the  cherry  and  apple  trees 
there  was  almost  darkness.  A.nd  what  was  this  tall  and  silent 
figure,  clad  from  head  to  heel  in  a  cloak  of  sombre  red,  with 
a  sword  thrusting  out  the  cloak  behind,  v/ith  a  peaked  black 
cap  coming  down  on  the  forehead,  and  that  surmounted  by  a 
tall  red  feather  that  here  and  there  brushed  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  ?  What  manner  of  man  was  this,  with  ruddy  shadows 
under  the  strangely  vivid  eyes,  with  cadaverous  cheeks,  with 
pointed  beard  and  curled  mustache,  and  with  a  fiendish  grin 
on  his  lips  ?  Then  a  younger  man  stepped  down  from  the 
balcony  ;  and,  behold,  the  youth  was  bravely  clad  in  blue  and 
silver,  with  a  cape  of  velvet  hanging  from  his  shoulders  ;  and 
there  was  a  soft  yellow  down  on  his  upper  lip  ;  and  a  look  of 
gay  laughter  about  his  handsome  face.  He,  in  turn,  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  beautiful  and  gentle  creature,  who  wore  her  yellow 
hair  in  two  long  plaits  behind,  and  who  appeared  in  a  simple 
dress  of  white,  with  its  tight  sleeves  and  its  sachel  touched 
here  and  there  with  blue.  Strangely  enough,  as  the  three  fig- 
ures walked  here  and  there  through  the  twilight  of  the  garden, 
Mephistopheles,  Romeo,  and  Margaret  spoke  the  same  lan- 
guage, and  laughed  with  the  same  light  laughter.  It  was  their 
dress  rehearsal :  the  solitary  spectator  being  a  young  lady  in 
the  balcony,  who  said  they  looked  like  ghosts,  and  hoped  she 
should  not  dream  of  them  that  night. 

The  important  evening  at  length  arrived ;  and  Mr.  Miller 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  103 

had  arranged  to  dress  at  James  Drummond's  house,  for  he 
was  quite  sure  that,  without  his  supervision,  Mephistopheles 
would  be  found  lacking  in  fiendish  eyebrows  and  mustache. 
James  Drummond  was  not  accustomed  to  these  things  ;  he 
was  a  mere  child  in  the  hands  of  young  Miller,  who  dealt 
with  this  matter  in  a  serious  and  didactic  fashion. 

The  big  house  in  Euston  Square  was  all  lighted  up  ;  Chi- 
nese lanterns  were  hung  along  the  covered  way  leading  down 
to  the  gate  ;  and  on  the  pavement  a  large  number  of  people 
had  assembled  to  watch  the  arrivals  descend  from  the  car- 
riages and  walk  up  the  lane  of  dimly  colored  light.  There 
was  a  murmur  of  surprise  when  a  tall,  gaunt  figue  in  sombre 
red  stalked  by,  with  a  whisper  of  "  The  Devil!"  Romeo 
was  a  little  bewildered  ;  he  was  wondering  how  Violet  would 
be  dressed  ;  whether  she  would  be  kind  or  proud  ;  whether 
she  would  dance  with  many  people.  He  resolved  that  he 
would  not  stay  in  the  room  if  she  danced  with  any  other  than 
himself  ;  and  he  already  hated  that  unknown  stranger. 

More  brilliant  lights  ;  a  sound  of  distant  music  ;  some  ser- 
vants, with  staring  eyes  and  anxious  manner. 

Mr.  Drummond  taps  young  Romeo  on  the  shoulder.  **  You 
are  in  the  way." 

He  stands  aside,  and  two  strange  creatures  go  by. 

"  Thank  you,"  says  one  of  them,  courteously.  "  You  have 
allowed  tv;o  centuries  to  pass." 

As  yet  they  are  but  encountering  the  outward  ripples  of 
the  great  whirlpool  within.  Cleopatra,  proud  and  dusky,  with 
golden  ornaments  pendant  over  her  forehead,  comes  out  into 
the  cooler  air  of  the  hall ;  she  is  attended  by  an  executioner, 
draped  in  black,  and  masked.  Whose  are  these  enormous 
scarlet  feathers  sweeping  back  from  the  cowl  ?  Surely  they 
and  the  long  slashed  cloak  belong  to  a  high  baron  of  Ger- 
many !  There,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots 
is  chatting  pleasantly  with  a  tall  youth  dressed  as  chef  de  cui- 
sine; beside  them  stands  the  redoutable  Jean  Sansterre,  the 
lights  gleaming  on  his  suit  of  chain-mail,  his  huge  shield  and 
battle-axe.  Harlequin  whips  by;  the  solemn  Master  of 
Ravenswood  appears  with  Ophelia  on  his  arm ;  the  mighty- 
hearted  Barbarossa  and  the  Fille  du  Regiment,  laughing  and 
talking  together,  are  making  for  the  ball-room. 

"  *  Art  thou  not  Romeo,  and  a  Montague  ? '  " 

At  the  sound  of  that  well-known  voice  our  three  strangers 
turned  instantaneously.     What  wonderful  vision  was  this  .'' — 


104  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

not  the  Violet  N'orth  they  knew,  but  Juliet  herself  descended 
in  all  her  beauty  from  the  moonlit  balcony — her  face  a  trifle 
pale,  perhaps,  but  that  may  have  been  the  reflected  light  of 
her  robes  of  white  satin — her  magnificent  black  hair  looking 
blacker  because  of  this  gleaming  dress — her  dark  eyes  full  of 
fire,  and  light,  and  gladness — the  proud,  sweet  mouth  partly 
opened  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  and  just  showing  a 
glimmer  of  milk-white  teeth.  Young  Romeo  was  altogether 
overwhelmed,  blinded,  bewildered.  What  great  condescen- 
sion was  this — or  was  she  but  toying  with  him  :  she,  the  full- 
grown  woman  still  fancying  that  he  was  but  a  youth  ?  There 
was  more  of  the  girl  than  of  the  woman,  however,  in  the  de- 
light of  her  face,  in  the  eager  fashion  in  which  she  insisted 
on  showing  them  where  Lady  North  was  posted. 

"  Oh,  Violet,  how  lovely  you  look  in  that  dress ! "  Mrs. 
Warrener  could  not  help  saying,  in  an  under-tone. 

"  Can  we  get  up  stairs  .''  "  the  girl  said.  "  Lady  North  is 
on  the  landing.     Mr.  Drummond,  shall  we  lead  the  way  t  " 

Surely  Romeo  and  Juliet  should  have  gone  together. 
Romeo  was  rather  silent  when  he  saw  that  beautiful  creature 
in  the  white  satin  and  pearls  pass  on  with  the  tall  figure  in 
sombre  red. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  crush  on  the  stairs  kept  them 
jammed  in  and  motionless  at  one  point  of  the  ascent. 
Violet  turned  round  ;  Romeo  was  just  beneath  ;  and  she  said 
to  him,  with  a  tender  sweetness, 

"  *  How  cam'st  thou  hither,  tell  me  !  and  wherefore  ? 
The  orchard  walls  are  high,  and  hard  to  climb ; 
And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art, 
If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here.'  " 

He  could  not  answer — his  face  flushed  red  with  embarrass- 
ment ;  but  fortunately  another  upward  movement  on  the  part 
of  the  crowd  carried  them  on  again  and  hid  his  vexation. 

"  She  has  studied  her  part  better  than  you  have,"  said  Mrs. 
Warrener,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  How  could  I  know  ?"  said  he,  almost  angrily.  "  I  did 
not  know  she  would  be  Juliet.  I  suppose  these  are  the 
speeches  Juliet  makes.     And  one  looks  such  a  fool." 

"  But  surely  you  know  the  pretty  things  that  Romeo  says 
to  her  t  "  said  his  companion. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  he  said,  gloomily.  "  Poetry  was  never 
much  in  my  way.  But — but  if  you  know,  Mrs.  Warrener — 
couldn't  you  give  me  a  hint  or  two — " 

"  I  think  my  brother  has  taken  up  your  part,"  said  she  ;  and 


WALPUR  GIS-NIGHT. 


105 


then,  indeed,  they  heard  that  Mephistopheles  and  Juliet  v/ere 
addressing  each  other  in  very  beautiful  language.  George 
Miller  leaped  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  exaggerated  and  tawdry  sentiment  about  Shakspeare ;  and 
that,  in  any  case,  theatrical  stuff  should  be  kept  for  theatres. 

On  the  landing,  and  in  a  recess  so  that  her  guests  could 
pass  by  her  into  the  ball-room,  they  found  Lady  North,  who 
was  very  dignified  and  very  courteous.  Her  eldest  daughter, 
Anatolia,  stood  by  her.  What  made  young  Mr.  Miller  ask 
this  rather  plain  young  lady,  so  that  his  companions  could 
distinctly  overhear,  for  the  next  waltz  she  had  free  .'*  He  had 
not  asked  Violet  to  dance. 

They  looked  in  on  the  wonderful  assemblage  of  picturesque 
figures — certain  groups  of  them  here  and  there  in  motion — 
the  sound  of  music  all  through  the  place — the  brilliant  colors 
and  diverse  forms  almost  bewildering  the  eye.  The  fair  Ju- 
liet, her  hand  still  on  the  arm  of  the  tall  and  sombre  Mephis- 
topheles, showed  him  a  certain  little  pink  card. 

"  I  have  not  given  away  one  dance  yet,"  said  she. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  ask  you  to  dance  ? "  he  replied. 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  Romeo  who  ought  to  dance  wit]i  Juliet." 

"  I  wish  to  dance  with  you — or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  I 
want  you  to  engage  me  for  one  or  two,  that  we  may  keep  to- 
gether, and  see  the  people." 

"  Give  me  your  programme,  Violet." 

He  took  it  and  managed,  with  some  difficulty,  to  put  cer- 
tain Iiieroglyphics  on  it. 

"  Why,  you  have  put  J.  D.  at  every  one  !  "  cried  Juliet. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  that  is  what  I  should  prefer.  But  I  am 
not  greedy.  Whenever  you  wish  to  cheer  up  the  drooping 
spirits  of  your  Romeo,  I  will  set  you  free.  What  have  you 
said  to  him,  Violet .''  " 

She  turned  round  and  regarded  the  young  man  with  some 
wonder.     He  was  certainly  not  looking  well  pleased. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  I  will  take  you  all  round  by  another 
way  to  the  balcony,  and  you  will  see  every  thing  from  there. 
That  will  be  better  than  fighting  across  the  room.  But  per- 
haps you  wish  to  dance,  Mr.  Miller  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  gruffly. 

She  would  take  no  notice  of  his  manner.     She  said,  gently, 

"  If  you  will  follow  us,  then„  we  can  go  round  to  the  bal- 
cony, and  have  a  nice  cool  place  almost  to  ourselves.  Shall 
we  go,  Mr.  Drummond  ?  " 

■"  I  am  no  pilot,"  said  he,  in  a  tragic  voice. 


io6  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

•*  *  Yet  wert  thou  as  far 
As  that  vast  shore  vvash'd  with  the  farthest  sea, 
I  would  adventure  for  such  merchandise  ! '  " 

"  '■  'Tis  but  thy  name  that  is  mine  enemy  ! '  "  she  retorted, 
with  a  light  laugh,  as  she  again  took  his  arm  and  led  him 
away. 

"  *  Thou  art  thyself,  though  Mephistopheles, 

What's  Mephistophles  ?     It  is  not  hand,  nor  foot, 

Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part 

Belonging  to  a  man.     Oh,  be  some  other  name  ! '  " 

"We  appear  to  have  got  behind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre," 
said  young  Mr.  Miller,  with  savage  contempt,  to  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  very  amusing,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener, 
in  her  quiet  way,  "  to  see  the  girl  play  Juliet  so  well  ?  How 
delightfully  gracious  her  manner  is  !  " 

"  1  think  when  you  are  on  the  stage,  you  ought  to  be  on  the 
stage,"  said  he,  bluntly ;  "  and  when  you're  in  a  private  house, 
you  ought  to  be  in  a  private  house.  I  don't  see  the  fun  of  all 
that  tomfoolery." 

"Do  you  mean  the  fancy  costumes?"  Mrs.  Warrener 
asked,  with  gentle  sarcasm. 

"  Oh  dear,  no — I  mean  that  poetry  and  nonsense." 

Certainly  the  small  room  through  which  they  were  now  pass- 
ing was,  in  one  respect,  like  the  gloomy  corridors  "  behind 
the  scenes."  It  was  dark  enough,  but  they  could,  at  all  events, 
see  that  in  the  centre  of  the  room  a  table  was  placed  which 
had  a  white  cloth  on  it. 

"  Isn't  Lady  North  kind  ? "  said  Violet.  "  She  has  given  me 
this  room  for  us  four,  so  that  as  soon  as  the  others  go  down 
to  supper  we  can  have  ours  in  here,  in  quiet  and  coolness." 

"  '  By  whose  direction  found'st  thou  out  this  place  t '  "  asked 
her  companion. 

"Please,  Mephistopheles- Romeo,  to  keep  to  your  own 
speeches,"  she  observed,  with  some  dignity.  *'That  one  be- 
longs to  me." 

From  this  small  room  they  went  out  on  the  balcony,  v/hich 
was  hung  round  with  pink  and  white,  and  lighted  *up  with 
Chinese  lanterns ;  and,  passing  along,  they  came  once  more 
in  sight  of  the  brilliant  ball-room,  at  the  open  windows  of 
which  they  now  stood.  Two  or  three  others  had  discovered 
this  quiet  retreat — opportune  for  conversation  as  well  as  agree- 
able on  account  of  its  coolness ;  but  somehow  these  dusky 
figures  loved  the  darkness  rather  than  the  light,  and  Violet's 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  107 

party,  assembled  in  front  of  one  of  the  windows,  was  left  pretty 
much  to  itself. 

She  set  to  work  to  exorcise  the  demon — was  it  some  ridicu- 
lous jealousy  ? — that  had  got  possession  of  this  young  man. 
She  had  not  much  trouble.  Who  could  have  withstood  the 
bright,  frank  smile,  and  the  friendly  look  of  her  beautiful  dark 
eyes  ?  Besides,  was  he  not  in  Juliet's  own  balcony — not  look- 
ing up  to  her,  but  actually  with  her — while  there  was  no 
petulant  nurse  to  call  her  ? 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  dance  at  all  to-night  ?  "  said  she. 

"  No. " 

"  Not  even  with  me  ?  " 

"  Your  card  is  full,"  said  he,  shortly. 

"  That  is  but  a  joke,"  she  said.  "  I  asked  Mr.  Drummond 
to  make  sure  I  should  have  plenty  of  time  to  spend  with  my 
espejcial  friends,  and  he  took  the  whole  night;  and  I  am  not 
sorry.  I  fancy,  Mr.  Drummond,  you  think  that  dancing  would 
not  accord  with  the  dignity  of  Mephistopheles,  don't  you  ?  " 

*'Nor  yet  with  his  age,"  said  he.  ''Dancing  is  for  young 
Romeos.     Young  Romeo,  why  are  you  lounging  idly  here  ?  " 

The  younger  man  was  looking  rather  wistfully  at  Violet.  He 
was  beginning  to  be  sorry  for  his  sulkiness.  Would  she  for- 
give him  ?  Was  her  kindness  real  ?  Or  was  she  only  making 
fun? 

"  Will  you  dance  this  waltz  with  me  t  "  said  he,  in  despera- 
tion ;  and  she  assented  at  once. 

They  passed  into  the  ball-room. 

"  I  thought  you  were  to  dance  with  Anatolia  ? "  she  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"  She  had  to  stay  by  Lady  North,"  he  answered.  "  I — I 
am  very  glad." 

*'  You  ought  not  to  say  such  things  :  she  is  my  sister.  And 
why  did  you  ask  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he  ;  and  presently  they  were  lost  in 
the  whirling  crowd. 

James  Drummond  and  his  sister  had  watched  them  enter 
the  room.  They  were  a  sufficiently  handsome  couple,  these 
two  young  people,  as  they  stood  there  for  a  moment  together 
— the  slim,  square-shouldered  young  fellow  in  blue  velvet  and 
silver,  with  his  fine  features  all  lighted  up  now  by  a  new  grati- 
tude and  pleasure,  and  the  tall,  shapely,  proud-featured  girl, 
whose  hair  seemed  blacker  than  the  raven's  wing  in  contrast 
with  the  gleaming  white  of  her  dress.  After  that  they  were 
visible  but  from  time  to  time  in  the  whirl  of  wonderful  shapes 


io3  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

and  colors  that  moved  to  the  light,  rapid,  and  harmonious 
music. 

"  That  is  the  beautiful  time  of  life,"  Drummond  said  to  his 
sister,  as  they  watched  these  two  go  by.  "Youth,  health, 
bright  spirits,  the  joy  of  living  life  instead  of  merely  looking 
at  it — and  yet  there  is  some  sadness  about  the  spectacle. 
Not  to  them,  of  course  ;  only  to  the  looker-on.  They  are  not 
thinking  of  to-morrow,  nor  yet  of  middle  age,  nor  of  any  doubt 
or  disquiet.  Look  at  them — don't  you  wish  you  could  make 
this  moment  eternity  for  them,  and  prolong  that  delight  of 
rapid  motion  for  ever  and  ever  ? " 

"  I  do  not,"  his  sister  said,  promptly.  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean,  James  ;  but  you  are  always  coupling  these 
two  together,  as  if  they  must  necessarily  marry." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  he,  rather  absentl}^ 

"  You  know  very  well  :  the  notion  of  a  proud,  high-spirited 
girl  like  Violet  marrjdng  a  young  man  like  that — who  has 
got  no  more  imagination,  or  feeling,  or  mind  than  a  block  of 
wood !  " 

"  You  are  never  fair  to  young  Miller,  Sarah.  He  is  quite 
as  intelligent  as  most  young  men ;  and  he  is  far  more  will- 
ing to  improve  himself  than  any  I  know." 

"  He  sha'n't  marry  Violet." 

"  You  used  to  like  him  well  enough." 

"  Yes ;  because  I  never  dreamed  that  any  thing  serious 
would  come  of  that  foolish  adventure  of  theirs.  But  now  I 
am  sure  he  means  to  marry  her  if  she  will  let  him ;  and  I 
think  she  has  a  sort  of  tender,  half-romantic  interest  in  him 
at  which  she  laughs,  but  which  is  likely  to  make  mischief." 

"  That  is  how  you  describe  marriage  ?  "  said  he. 

But  at  this  moment  the  two  young  people  came  back — 
flushed,  eager,  gay  in  spirits  ;  Romeo  in  especial  being  de- 
lighted, and  showing  his  delight  by  being  anxious  to  share 
it.  Mrs.  Warrener  must  really  go  in  and  dance.  The  flash- 
ing-by  of  the  different  characters  was  wonderful.  Had  she 
seen  Henry  VIII.  go  down  1  What  was  this  perfume  they 
were  burning  ? 

Then  he  w.as  anxious  that  Violet  should  give  him  the  next 
dance,  and  the  next  dance,  and  the  next  again.  But  she 
refused.  She  was  not  going  to  desert  her  friends.  When 
this  present  dance  was  over,  she  invited  Mephistopheles  to 
walk  with  her  through  the  room  that  they  might  look  at  the 
crowd  together;  and  Romeo  and  Margaret  followed,  the 
former  quite  glad  and  contented  now.  It  is  true  that  he  had 
more  rivals  than  ever.     Violet  North  was  known  to  but  few 


WALPURGIS-NIGHT.  109 

of  her  step-mother's  guests ;  but  the  appearance  of  the  girl 
was  too  striking  to  escape  unnoticed  ;  and  there  were  all  sorts 
of  applications  to  Lady  North  for  an  introduction  to  the 
beautiful  young  lady  dressed  as  Juliet.  That  young  lady  was 
exceedingly  courteous  to  these  successive  strangers  ;  but  how 
could  she  promise  them  a  dance,  seeing  that  her  card  was 
full  to  the  very  last  line  ? 

So  the  night  went  by,  in  music,  laughter,  and  gladness ; 
and  they  had  supper  all  by  themselves  in  that  little  room, 
the  fair  Juliet  being  queen  of  the  feast ;  and  Lady  North  sat 
with  them  for  a  time,  and  said  some  pretty  things  about  Mar- 
garet's dress ;  and  Violet's  father  looked  in  on  them,  and 
said  to  young  Miller,  "  Well,  sir,  been  running  away  with  any 
more  school-girls  lately  ? ''  As  for  the  young  lady  herself, 
the  light  on  her  face  was  something  to  look  at ;  it  seemed  to 
one  sitting  there  there  that  youth  had  nothing  more  beautiful 
to  give  than  such  a  night. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  all  ? "  she  said  to  Mr.  Drum- 
mond,  when  they  went  back  into  the  ball-room,  to  look  on 
at  a  slow  and  stately  minuet  that  was  being  danced  by  a  few 
experts.     "  Don't  you  think  it  is  lovely  ?  " 

"  I  am  trying  to  think  what  you  think  of  it,"  said  he.  "  To 
me  the  chief  delight  of  it  is  the  delight  I  see  in  your  face. 
I  have  never  seen  a  girl  at  her  first  ball  before  ;  it  is  a  good 
thing  to  see." 

"  Wliy  do  you  speak  so  sadly  ?  " 

"  Do  I  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  when  I  am  not  by,  I  see  you  looking  at  the 
whole  affair  as  if  it  were  fifty  miles  away.  I  wish  you  would 
dance  with  me,  instead  of  merely  standing  and  lookirig  on 
Hke  that." 

"  It  is  for  young  Romeos  to  dance  :  "  that  was  all  he  v/ould 
say — and  he  said  it  very  kindly  to  her ;  and  indeed  at  this 
moment  young  Romeo  did  come  up  and  claim  the  next  dance, 
so  that  she  went  away  wdth  him. 

A  little  time  after,  when  the  loud  music  ceased,  and  there 
was  nothing  heard  but  a  newly  awakened  hum  of  conversa- 
tion and  the  shuffling  of  feet,  young  Romeo  said  to  his  part- 
ner. 

"  Shall  we  go  through  that  little  supper-room  and,surprise 
them  in  the  balcony  ?  " 

"  If  you  like,"  she  said  :  she  was  ready  for  any  thing. 

They  got  out  and  round  to  that  small  room ;  the  candles 
were  still  burning  brightly  on  the  table.  She  was  leading 
the  way,  for  there  was  room  but  for  one  to  pass,  when  he 


no  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

put  his  hand  on  her  hand  to  detain  her.  She  looked  round 
in  some  surprise. 

"Just  a  second,"  said  he,  and  she  could  not  understand 
why  his  eyes  should  look  so  anxious.  *'  I  want  to  speak  to 
you,  Violet — I  have  something  to  say  to  you—" 

Then  she  understood  him  in  a  moment;  and  she  drew 
back  afraid.  Her  first  impulse  was  the  school-girl  one  to 
beat  a  sudden  retreat  into  the  balcony  :  her  second,  the 
woman's  one,  to  implore  him  to  spare  them  both  the  unnec- 
essary pain  of  a  request  and  refusal.  But  she  had  miscalcu- 
lated his  intentions. 

"  Only  this,"  said  he,  in  nervous  haste,  "  will  you  promise 
me  not  to  marry  any  body  for  two  years  to  come  ?  " 

It  was  a  strange  request ;  a  declaration  of  jealousy  rather 
than  of  love.  The  girl  was  rather  pale,  and  she  was  certainly 
frightened  :  had  she  had  more  self-possession,  she  would  have 
laughed. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said.  "I  am 
not  likely  to  marry  any  one — I  don't  think  of  marrying  any 
one—" 

"  All  I  want  is  a  chance,"  he  said ;  and  he  put  both  his 
hands  over  that  one  that  he  still  held,  while  he  looked  in  her 
face.  "  You  will  let  me  hope  that  some  day  I  may  persuade 
you  to  be  my  wife — " 

"I  can  not  promise — I  can  not  promise,"  she  said,  almost 
wildly. 

"  I  don't  ask  you,"  he  said.     "Violet,  now  don't  be  hard." 

She  looked  at  him — at  the  entreaty  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  That  you  will  give  me  leave  to  hope  that  some  day  you 
will  marry  me." 

"It  is  only  a  *  perhaps  ? '  "  she  said,  with  her  eyes  turned 
to  the  floor. 

"  It  is  only  a  '  perhaps' — that  is  all,"  he  said,  eagerlv, 

"Very  well,  then." 

In  his  transport  he  would  fain  have  kissed  her,  but  he  was 
afraid;  he  kissed  her  hand  passionately,  and  said  she  was  an 
angel  of  kindness. 

"  And  then,"  said  he,  "  Violet,  you  know  I  must  ask  your 
father's  permission — " 

"  Oh  no,  no ! "  she  cried  instinctively,  feeling  that  that 
would  pledge  her  more  and  more. 

"  But  only  as  between  him  and  me,"  the  young  man  said, 
with  the  same  impetuous  haste.  "  You  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.     You  are  not  bound  by  that.     But  of  course  he  sees 


WALPUKGIS-NIGIir.  in 

already  why  I  have  become  so  intimate  with  the  rest  of  the 
family  ;  and  this  would  only  be  putting  every  thing  straight 
and  above-board — " 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  she,  rather  quickly.  "There  must 
be  no  stupid  secret  this  time.  And  you  will  tell  my  father 
that  I  have  not  promised  to  marry  you — that  it  is  only — " 

"  I  will  tell  him  every  thing.     Violet,  how  kind  you  are  !  " 

"  Come  away,"  she  said,  hurridly,  and  her  face  was  pale. 
''  You  must  dance  with  Mrs.  Warrener." 

What  had  suddenly  raised  the  spirits  of  this  young  man  to 
the  verge  of  madness  ?  He  seemed  drunk  with  delight ;  his 
face  afire  with  pleasure ;  his  laughter  extravagant ;  his  speech 
rapid  and  excited.  Violet,  on  the  other  hand,  was  pale,  con- 
cerned, and  silent.  When  George  Miller  took  Mrs.  Warrener 
away  into  the  room,  Violet,  left  alone  with  Mr.  Drummond, 
said  little,  but  that  little  was  said  with  an  unusual  earnestness 
of  kindness.  He  would  have  been  surprised  by  it,  but  that 
he  knew  how  anxiously  kind  she  always  was  to  her  old  friends. 

He  drew  her  attention  to  a  strange  blue  light  that  began 
to  be  visible  even  though  the  ruddy  awning  of  the  balcony. 
It  was  time  they  were  getting  home. 

"And  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  been  amused.  I  should 
have  been  miserable  if  ^  you  had  taken  all  this  trouble  and 
been  disappointed." 

"  Do  not  fear  that,"  said  he,  with  a  smile.  "  To  look  at 
you  enjoying  yourself  would  have  been  enough  pleasure  for 
any  one." 

It  was,  indeed,  the  cold  gray  of  the  morning  when  these 
strange  figures  issued  out  of  the  ruddy  hall  and  made  their 
way  home  in  the  new  and  pale  light.  Of  what  were  they  all 
thinking,  now  that  another  day  had  come,  and  the  hurry  and 
excitement  of  that  Walpurgis-night  over  and  gone  forever  ? 

One  young  man,  in  a  four-wheeled  cab,  making  for  Picca- 
dilly, was  communing  with  himself  thus  : 

"How  handsome  she  will  look  at  a  dinner-table!  In  her 
case,  anyway,  a  man  might  fairly  be  proud  of  taking  his  own 
wife  out  for  a  drive.  I  wonder  what  my  father  will  do  for 
me — surely  something  handsome ;  and  then,  if  her  father 
gives  her  any  thing  at  all  decent,  we  shall  get  on  very  well. 
By  Jove,  what  a  precious  lucky  ^fellow  I  am  !  And  she  sha'n't 
have  to  fear  any  neglect  or  unkindness  from  me  :  I  see  too 
much  of  that  going  on." 

In  another  vehicle,  going  in  another  direction,  a  tall,  thin, 
middle-aged  man,  looking  rather  sad,  worn,  and  tired,  was 
talking  to  his  sister.     But  surely  not  of  the  fancy-dress  ball  ? 


112  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

*'I  suppose,"  he  was  saying,  in  his  absent  and  dreamy 
way,  "that  Roland,  the  brave  knight  Roland,  never  existed. 
I  don't  much  care  about  that ;  for  the  man  who  imagined 
such  a  perfect  type  of  manhood — who,  among  all  the  triviali- 
ties and  commonplace  of  the  life  around  him — the  breakfasts, 
dinners,  and  suppers,  the  rising  in  the  morning  to  wash  your 
face — the  wretched  details  of  one  hour  after  another — well, 
I  think  the  man  who  managed  in  the  midst  of  all  that  to  im- 
agine such  a  splendid  figure  as  Roland  was  far  greater  than 
the  Roland  he  created.  Don't  you  think  so,  Sarah  ?  I  don't 
care  whether  King  Arthur  ever  lived ;  because  a  greater  than 
Arthur  lives  now,  and  tells  us  about  him.  And  yet  I  think 
that  Tristram  is  the  bravest  knight,  and  has  the  most  pictur- 
esque story,  in  the  '  Morte  d'Arthur.'  " 

And  again — but  surely  this  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
fancy-dress  ball  ? — 

"  I  wonder  if  the  wise  men  of  Egypt  wished  to  teach  the 
people  a  lesson  in  humility  when  they  made  the  beetle  an  ob- 
ject of  worship  ?  Or  was  it  a  challenge  to  faith  ?  Fancy 
what  an  imposture  the  owl  was  as  a  symbol  of  Minerva — the 
biggest  fool  of  a  bird  you  can  find.  I  suppose  owls  don't 
eat  grapes  ;  but  no  bird  but  a  half-blind  owl  could  have  been 
such  a  fool  as  to  peck  at  Zeuxis's  painted  grapes." 

And  again — but  what  on  earth  had  this  to  do  with  tli,e 
fancy-dress  ball  ? — 

"  What  a  fine  thing  it  must  have  been  to  carry  about  with 
you  a  sword — the  sort  of  consciousness,  I  mean,  of  having 
the  power  of  life  or  death  with  you.  If  you  were  weak,  the 
sword  became  part  of  yourself,  and  gave  you  strength.  Now 
they  go  to  war  with  engines  and  machines !  and  I  suppose 
you  seldom  know  you  have  killed  a  man.  But  don't  you 
think  that  a  great  war  must  leave  behind  it,  in  thousands  of 
human  bosoms,  a  secret  consciousness  of  having  committed 
murder.? — a  suspicion,  or  a  certainty,  that  a  man  must  not 
even  mention  to  his  wife  ? — the  half  glimmer  of  a  dying  face, 
the  hoiTid  recollection  of  a  vague  splash  of  blood  ?  " 

In  the  house  which  these  three  people  had  just  left,  a 
young  girl  sat  alone  in  her  own  room,  her  face  bent  down, 
her  hands  clasped  on  her  knees. 

"  Have  I  promised  ?  have  J  promised  ?  "  This  was  what 
she  was  thinking.  "  How  anxious  and  pitiful  he  looked ! 
And  that  is  the  time  that  comes  but  once  to  a  girl  to  be  kind 
or  to  be  cruel  to  her  first  lover.  I  could  not  be  cruel ;  and 
yet  I  am  not  deeply  pledged.  We  may  find  out  it  is  all  a 
mistake,  after  all ;  and  when  we  are  old,  I  dare  say  we  shall 


FIRE  AND  WATER.  113 

laugh  over  our  youthful  romance.  When  will  he  speak  to  my 
father  ? " 

Her  thoughts  took  another  turn — fled  southward  with  the 
speed  of  lightning : 

"Oh,  my  good,  kind  friend!"  she  would  have  said,  if  she 
had  translated  her  fancies  into  speech,  "  why  were  you  so  sad 
to-night,  and  silent,  and  far-away  in  your  look  ?  You  said 
you  were  pleased — only  to  please  me.  Have  you  no  one  to 
ask  you  what  you  are  thinking  about,  when  you  look  like 
that  ?  And  don't  you  know  there  are  some  who  would  give 
their  life — who  would  willingly  and  gladly  give  their  own  worth- 
less life  away — if  that  would  brighten  your  sad  eyes  and  make 
you  cheerful  and  happy  ?  " 


CHAPTER  Xni. 

FIRE   AND   WATER. 

If  George  Miller  had  any  hope  of  winning  Violet  North 
for  a  wife,  he  set  about  the  task  in  the  most  wrong-headed  of 
fashions.  A  little  more  imagination,  and  of  the  perception 
that  accompanies  imagination,  would  have  shown  him  the 
folly  of  prematurely  brandishing  in  the  face  of  a  high-spirited 
girl,  who  dearly  loved  her  liberty,  those  shackles  of  matrimony 
which  ought  to  have  been  kept  in  the  background,  or  altogether 
concealed.  He  would  have  seen  that  his  best  chances  hung 
on  his  fostering  that  sentiment  of  half-humorous,  half-tender 
romance  with  which  she  was  disposed  to  regard  her  youthful 
lover ;  he  ought  to  have  let  the  gentle  process  of  time  strength- 
en this  sentiment ;  he  oughl^  to  have  accustomed  her  to  the  no- 
tion of  losing  her  liberty  by  slow  and  insidious  degrees.  The 
matter-of-fact  young  man  missed  all  that.  He  wanted  to  know 
exactly  how  they  stood.  He  could  not  understand  why  they 
should  not  be  engaged  like  other  people.  What  harm  was 
there  in  a  ring  ?  In  a  word,  he  was  anxious  to  take  posses- 
sion of  a  beautiful  wife  ;  while  she  regarded  his  claims  upon 
her  with  surprise  and  distinct  aversion — hence  all  manner  of 
lovers'  quarrels,  which  were  exciting  enough,  but  rather  dan- 
gerous. 

First  of  all,  he  had  gone  to  Sir  Acton  North,  who  received 
him  with  much  friendliness. 

"  What !  "  said  he,  when  the  young  man  had  told  his  story, 
"  you  run  away  with  a  girl,  and  then  you  come  and  ask  her 
8 


114 


MADCAP  VIOLET. 


father  for  permission  to  court  her.  That  is  putting  the  horse 
behind  the  cart,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Miller  was  very  nervous  ;  but  when  his  proposed  fa- 
ther-in-law was  good  enough  to  make  a  joke,  he  was  bound 
to  laugh  at  it ;  so  he  grinned  a  ghastly  grin. 

"  What  does  she  say,  eh  ?  What  does  she  say  herself  ? 
That  is  the  point." 

Indeed,  the  great  railway  engineer  could  have  no  objec- 
tion to  the  young  man  as  a  husband  for  Violet.  He  was  of 
a  rich  and  reputable  family  ;  he  was  young,  good-looking,  appar- 
ently good-tempered  ;  his  business  prospects  were  excellent. 
There  was  another  point  to  be  considered.  Sir  Acton  had  a 
suspicion  that  the  truce  between  his  wife  and  her  step-daugh- 
ter was  dangerously  hollow ;  at  any  moment  the  girl  might 
have  to  go  ;  and  whither  could  she  go  ?  If  she  wanted  to 
marry  this  young  man,  why  should  she  not  ?  Moreover,  he 
knew  he  would  be  paying  a  compliment  to  Lady  North  in 
rather  encouraging  the  attentions  of  this  young  man  ;  so  that, 
while  he  pleased  himself  by  rendering  Violet's  future  more 
secure,  he  would  make  his  consent  a  favor  granted  to  his 
wife.     This  is  always  good  policy  on  the  part  of  a  husband. 

"Well,  sir,"  young  Miller  answered,  "  I  have  asked  nothing 
definite.     I  thought  it  better  to  come  to  you  first." 

"  Quite  right,  quite  right.  Well,  you  must  question  her- 
self, you  know  ;  but  be  cautious." 

Mr.  Miller  was  rather  puzzled  by  the  twinkling  light  that 
came  into  the  gray  eyes  of  this  big,  white-bearded  man. 

"  She  wants  dealing  with,"  said  her  father,  frankly.  "  She 
won't  be  mastered.  However,  she  has  been  very  quiet  and 
good  since  we  came  back  from  Canada — perhaps  that  will 
last." 

These  cautions  were  rather  ominous ;  but,  then,  a  young 
man  is  always  convinced  that  he  knows  a  dozen  times  as 
much  about  the  nature  of  his  sweetheart  as  her  own  father  or 
mother  knows,  who  has  only  lived  with  her  for  a  matter  of 
twenty  years  or  so. 

"  There  is  another  point,"  said  George  Miller,  pulling  his 
courage  together,  and  proceeding  to  talk  with  a  business-like 
air.  "Of  course  I  don't  know  what  she  will  say  ;  but  it  may 
be  better  if  I  tell  you  how  my  money  matters  stand.  I  hope 
shortly  to  have  about  nine  hundred  pounds  a  year  from  this 
partnership.  Then,  when  I  marry,  I  expect  my  father  will 
give  me  twenty  thousand  pounds.  I  don't  see  how  he  could 
give  me  less  than  that,  because  he  gave  as  much  to  my  sister 
when  she  married,  and  I  am  the  onlv  son." 


FIRE  AND   WATER.  1x5 

"  When  you  get  it,  don't  put  it  in  railwa3^s,"  said  Sir  Ac- 
ton, briefly. 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  said  young  Miller  (though  he  would  have 
liked  half  an  hour's  chat  on  this  matter  with  so  competent  an 
authority).  "  If  I  can't  get  two  or  three  good  mortgages — 
and  I  suppose  it  is  difficult  to  get  them  nowadays  at  six  per 
cent. — I  mean  to  spread  the  money  over  half  a  dozen  of  the 
best  foreign  stocks  ;  and  that  way  you  can  average  nearly 
six  per  cent,  without  very  much  risk." 

"  Very  good — very  good,"  said  Sir  Acton  ;  "  but  keep  it 
nearer  five.  Five  is  quite  enough  ;  there  is  never  any  great 
safety  over  five." 

"  And  then,"  said  the  young  man,  rather  hesitatingly,  ''  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  about  two  thousand  pounds  a  year." 

"  Very  good  ;  quite  enough  to  live  on,"  was  Sir  Acton's 
business-like  reply.  "Too  much,  I  should  say,  for  young 
people.     You  ought  to  save  on  that." 

Mr.  Miller  waited  for  a  second  ;  he  seemed  to  expect  that 
Sir  Acton  would  say  something  more.  Was  there  to  be  no 
-mention — not  even  the  least  hint — of  the  possible  dowry  on 
the  other  side  ? 

A  servant  came  to  say  the  carriage  was  below. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  I  am  sure,"  said  Sir  Acton,  shaking 
hands  with  the  young  man.  "You  will  go  into  the  drawing- 
room,  I  suppose  :  the  girls  are  sure  to  be  there." 

"  Sir  Acton,"  the  young  man  said,  stopping  him,  "  I 
haven't  said  how  much  I  am  grateful  to  you  for — for — " 

"  No,  no,  not  at  all,"  said  the  other,  as  he  hurried  away. 
"  You  settle  it  all  with  her." 

Mr.  Miller  crossed  the  passage,  and  entered  the  drawing- 
room;  the  music  ceased  as  he  did  so,  and  one  of  Lady 
North's  daughters  left  the  piano.  Altogether  there  were  four 
girls  in  the  room  ;  one  of  them  being  Violet,  who,  knowing 
that  Mr.  Miller  was  in  the  house,  and  guessing  the  object  of 
his  visit,  had  taken  refuge  with  her  half-sisters,  so  that  he 
should  not  find  her  alone. 

It  was  a  large  and  sombre  apartment ;  for  Lady  North  and 
her  daughters  affected  high  art  in  the  matter  of  house-decora- 
tion. What  with  the  dark  painting  of  the  ceiling,  the  bottle- 
green  paper  and  brown  panehngs  of  the  walls,  the  deep  un- 
relieved red  of  the  carpet ;  the  black  cabinets,  and  the  stained 
windows,  the  spacious  and  melancholy  chamber  looked  like  a 
great  sepulchral  vault.  It  used  to  be  said — but  the  statement 
was  not  true — that  Lady  North's  daughters,  when  they  hap- 
pened to  be  at  home  in   the   evening,  sat  in  a  row  in  this 


Ii6  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

solemn  apartment,  all  of  them  silent,  all  of  them  dressed  in 
white,  each  holding  a  tall  white  lily  in  her  hand,  and  having  a 
silver  star  in  her  hair.  At  the  present  moment,  at  all  events, 
they  were  not  so  engaged.  They  seemed  singularly  disturbed, 
restless,  and  embarrassed  when  Mr.  Miller  entered— all  except 
Violet,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  looked  a  little  impatient  and 
angry.  First  of  all,  the  young  lady  who  had  been  playing  said 
she  wished  to  find  some  music  somewhere,  and  left  the  room. 
After  a  second  or  two,  another  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
Sally  would  never  find  the  music ;  and  so  she  set  off  to  look 
for  it.  The  color  in  Miss  Violet's  face  deepened.  Then  the 
third  and  remaining  sister  sprung  up,  and  said, 

"Isn't  that  the  postman,  Violet?  Oh,  I  must  go  and  see 
what  he  has  brought." 

This  was  too  much. 

"  You  know  it  is  not  the  postman  !  "  she  said,  hotly.  "  I 
wish,  Anatolia,  you  would  stay  where  you  are." 

"  I  shall  be  back  directly,"  said  Anatolia  ;  and  then  she  went 
quickl}^,  leaving  these  two  in  solemn  silence,  both  embarrassed, 
and  one  inclined  to  be  vexed,,  angry,  and  rebellious. 

*'  Why  should  you  wish  them  to  stay  in  the  room,  Violet  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Because  I  don't  like  to  be  made  a  fool  of.  They  know 
quite  well  why  you  are  here  to-day.  And  they  believe — they 
believe — I  can  not  tell  you  what  nonsense  they  believe  ! " 

"  I  know,"  said  he.  "  The  girls  are  sensible.  They  believe 
we  are  engaged,  or  about  to  be.  Why  shouldn't  we  be 
engaged  ? " 

"  Because  I  do  not  choose  to  be  engaged." 

"  Every  body  approves  of  it,"  said  he.  "  Your  father  has 
no  objections  ;  I  am  sure  Lady  North  would  have  none  ;  and 
I  can  answer  for  my  people  that  they  would  be  delighted. 
And  that  is  another  thing,  Violet — I  should  so  like  to  introduce 
you  to  my  family." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  "  but  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  be  introduced  to  them  any  more  than  to  other  families 
whom  I  don't  know." 

-  "Well,  that  is  rather  strange,"  said  he,  "considering  our 
relations." 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  any  relations  existing  between  us." 

"  Oh,  indeed." 

"No." 

"  I  think  you  are  in  rather  a  bad  temper  to-day." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  offend  you,"  she  said  ;  "  but  it  is  better  to 
tell  you  the  plain  truth.     When  you  talk  about  an  engagement, 


FIRE  AND  WATER.  117 

and  about  being  introduced  to  your  friends,  you  make  me  wish 
I  had  never  seen  you  ;  you  do,  indeed.  Look  at  those  girls 
going  away — because  they  think  we  have  secrets  to  talk  over." 

In  her  impatience,  she  got  up  and  went  to  the  piano. 

"  What  would  you  like  me  to  play  for  you  ?  "  she  said,  coldly. 

He  was  quite  as  much  inclined  to  be  angry  at  this  moment 
as  she  was ;  but  he  was  afraid  of  the  consequences.  She  was 
in  a  mood  that  might  work  mischief  if  she  were  provoked. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  do  be  reasonable.  You  are  too  proud. 
You  dislike  the  notion  of  people  imagining  that  you — well, 
that  you  care  enough  for  me,  or  for  any  man,  to  think  of 
marrying  him.  But  every  girl  has  to  go  through  that ;  and  if 
the  truth  were  known,  other  girls  don't  laugh  at  her — they 
envy  her.  I  do  not  wish  to  force  you  to  do  any  thing  you 
don't  like  ;  only  I  must  say  I  expected  a  little  better  treat- 
ment when  I  came  here  to-day." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  treat  you  badly,  or  goodly,  or  any  way," 
she  said,  with  indignant  incoheience.  "Why  can't  we  be 
friends  Uke  other  people  ?  I  wish  to  be  kind  to  you — I  do, 
indeed.  All  the  time  I  was  in  Canada  there  was  nobody  in 
England  I  thought  more  about  than  you — at  least,  there  was 
next  to  nobody.  And  when  I  saw  you  over  at  Mr.  Drum- 
mond's  I  thought  it  would  be  such  a  nice  thing  to  be  friends 
with  you.  And  now  you  want  to  drag  me  into  engagements 
and  interviews — " 

"  Well,  you  are  a  stupid  girl,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  burst 
of  good  humor.  "  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  so  pretty  that 
I  am  bound  to  try  to  secure  you  for  my  wife  ?  You  might  go 
and  marry  somebody  else  while  that  nice  friendship  was  the 
only  bond  between  us.     Come,  Violet — " 

He  took  her  hand ;  she  drew  it  away. 

"What  shall  I  play  for  you  ?"  said  she. 

He  suddenly  regarded  her  with  a  suspicious  look. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  with  equal  coldness,  "  you  have  reasons 
for  not  wishing  that  we  should  be  engaged  ?  " 

"  Plenty,"  she  said,  frankly. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  some  one  else  to  whom  you  would  rather 
be  engaged  ? " 

A  mischievous  notion  got  into  her  head  at  this  moment :  she 
answered  nothing. 

"  Am  I  right  ? "  he  said,  with  an  affectation  of  lofty  calmness. 

"  What  if  you  are  ? "  she  said,  looking  down. 

His  calmness  v/ent. 

"  Then  I  consider,"  he  said,  warmly,  "  that,  if  that  is  so,  you 
have  been  treating  me  shamefully — letting  me  come  here  on 


ii8  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

a  fool's  errand ;  but  I  don't  believe  it — I  tell  you  I  don't 
believe — " 

"  You  don't  believe  what  ? " 

"That  you  are  likely  to  be  engaged  to  some  one  else." 

"  I  never  said  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  she  said,  with  provok- 
ing sweetness.  "  I  thought  I  had  been  telling  you  how  I  ab- 
horred the  notion  of  being  engaged  to  any  body.  If  you 
choose  to  imagine  a  lot  of  foolish  things,  I  can  not  help  it. 
I  wished  to  be  very  friendly  with  you.  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  get  into  a  temper.  You  have  not  told  me  what  you 
wish  me  to  play." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  think  I  must  go  now." 

She  rose,  with  great  gentleness  and  dignity,  and  offered  him 
her  hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  going  so  soon,"  she  said. 

He  stood  looking  at  her  with  irresolution,  regret,  anger,  and 
disappointment,  all  visible  at  once  in  his  face — disappoint- 
ment most  marked,  perhaps. 

"  Some  men,"  said  he,  calmly,  "  would  call  your  conduct  by 
an  ugly  name  ;  they  would  say  it  was  the  conduct  of — a  flirt." 

The  word  seemed  to  sting  her  like  a  horsewhip. 

"  I  never  flirted  with  any  one  in  all  my  life,"  she  said,  hotly. 
"  No  one  would  dare  to  say  such  a  thing  to  me." 

"Why  not.-*"  he  said,  forgetting  all  his  calmness,  and  be- 
coming as  vehement  as  herself.  ''  You  allow  a  man  to  ask  you 
to  marry  him — " 

"  How  could  I  prevent  that  ? " 

"  You  allow  him  to  go  to  your  father,  and  make  arrange- 
ments, and  have  every  thing  understood  ;  and  then  you  turn 
round  on  him,  and  say  there  is  nothing  understood,  and  hint 
that  you  would  rather  be  engaged  to  some  body  else,  and  all 
that — and  that  is  not  the  conduct  of  a  flirt  ?  I  wonder  what 
is!" 

"  Then,"  said  she,  with  flashing  eyes,  "  if  that  is  your  opin- 
ion of  me,  you  had  better  go." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  said  he  ;  and  he  crossed  the  room,  took  up 
his  hat,  bowed  to  her,  and  went  out. 

She  sat  down,  with  flaming  cheeks,  to  the  piano,  and  tried 
to  play.  That  was  not  much  use.  She  rose,  and,  hastily 
going  to  her  own  room,  flung  herself  on  the  bed,  and  burst 
into  a  flood' of  passionate  and  angry  tears,  vowing  to  herself  a 
thousand  times  that  she  would  never  again  have  any  thing  to 
say  to  any  man  of  woman  born,  not  if  she  were  to  live  a  thou- 
sand years. 


LIKE  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  119 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

"  LIKE  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN." 

The  cup  of  her  sorrows  was  not  yet  full.  When  she  had 
quite  exhausted  her  indignation  over  the  perfidy  and  unrea- 
sonableness and  bad  temper  of  mankind,  and  when  she  had 
quite  resolved  that  she  would  never  marry — no,  not  if  a  king's 
son  were  to  entreat  her — she  got  up,  and  washed  her  face,  and 
arranged  her  hair,  and  went  to  Lady  North.  In  a  humble  and 
submissive  tone  she  asked  the  little,  dignified,  gray-eyed  wo- 
man to  let  her  have  the  brougham  for  that  evening. 

Lady  North  was  surprised  and  offended.  Her  daughter 
Anatolia  had  run  quickly  to  tell  her  that  now  there  was  no 
longer  any  doubt  about  Violet  being  engaged  ;  for  Mr.  Miller 
was  in  the  study  in  confidential  talk  with  Sir  Acton ;  while 
Violet,  silent  and  embarrassed,  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  and 
would  answer  no  questions  about  the  young  man.  When, 
therefore,  Violet  now  presented  herself  before  her  step-mother, 
that  lady  naturally  concluded  she  had  come  to  inform  her  of 
the  engagement.  In  place  of  that,  she  only  asked  for  the 
brougham. 

"  Violet,"  said  Lady  North,  coldly,  "  I  do  not  think  that  this 
excessive  secrecy  becomes  a  young  girl." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  the  girl  said,  with  a  sud- 
den flash  of  indignation  in  her  eyes.     "  What  secrecy  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  enquire,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  confide 
in  me,"  said  the  other,  in  her  slow,  precise  fashion.  "  I 
should  have  thought  I  was  the  proper  person  to  whom  you 
ought  to  have  come  for  advice.  I  have  no  doubt  you  want 
the  brougham  to  go  over  to  your  friends  in  Camberwell." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  have  friends  in  Camberwell,"  said  the 
girl,  proudly.  "  It  is  something  to  have  true  friends  any- 
where.    But  what  is  the  secrecy  ?     What  have  I  concealed  ?  " 

"You  appear  not  to  know,"  said  Lady  North,  fixing  her 
cold,  keen,  gray  eyes  on  the  girl,  "  that  I  was  aware  of  Mr. 
Miller  being  with  your  papa  ?  " 

"  And  what  is  that  to  me  ?  "  Violet  said,  rapidly,  and  with 
hot  cheeks.  "  Why  should  I  come  and  report  to  you  what 
does  not  concern  me  ?  If  you  were  anxious  to  know  what 
my  father  and  Mr.  Miller  were  talking  about,  why  not  ask 
themselves  ?  There  is  something  quite  as  bad  as  secrecy 
and  concealment — and  that  is  suspicion — constant  suspicion, 


120  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

watching  you  at  every  turn,  when  you  have  nothing  at  all  to 
conceal — " 

She  suddenly  altered  her  tone  ;  drawing  herself  up,  and 
speaking  with  a  certain  proud  indifference, 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  wish  me  to  have  the  brougham  ?  " 

"  Your  papa  won't  be  home  until  late  this  evening.  Really, 
the  responsibility — " 

"  All  right,"  said  the  girl,  turning  toward  the  door,  "  a  four 
wheeled  cab  will  do  as  well." 

"  Ah  !  Violet,"  said  her  step-mother,  with  a  sigh,  "  no  one 
seems  to  have  the  least  control  over  you." 

"  No ;  because  no  one  ever  cared  to  have,"  said  the  girl, 
bitterly,  as  she  left  the  room — "  never  since  I  was  born." 

When  she  got  outside  the  house,  she  seemed  to  breathe  a 
freer  and  fresher  air.  Adventuring  out  by  herself  in  this 
fashion  did  not  seem  to  concern  her  much.  She  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  getting  a  four-wheeled  cab  ;  and  she  bid  the  man, 
before  crossing  Waterloo  Bridge,  stojD  for  a  few  minutes  in 
the  Strand. 

She  went  into  one  shop,  and  bought  a  huge  flagon  of  lav- 
ender-water, or  some  such  scent :  that  was  for  Mrs.  Warrener. 
She  went  into  another  shop,  and  bought  a  beautiful  little 
kerchief :  that  was  for  Amy.  Then  she  went  into  a  book- 
seller's shop. 

"  I  want  you  to  give  me  a  book  on  philosophy,  if  you 
please,"  said  the  handsome  young  lady,  in  her  gentlest  way. 

*'  Certainly,"  said  the  book-seller ;  and  then  he  waited  fur- 
ther instructions. 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  know  what,"  she  said,  observing  this. 
"You  must  tell  me.  It  is  for  a  gentleman  who  has  studied 
nearly  every  thing  ;  and  it  must  be  a  very  good  one.  What 
is  the  best  one  you  have  got  ?  " 

"  Really  I  don't  know,"  said  the  book-seller,  with  a  smile. 
"  Here  is  John  Stuart  Mill's — " 

"  Oh,  he  won't  do  at  all,"  said  Violet  promptly  ;  "  he  is 
alive." 

The  book-seller  began  to  be  interested  and  amused. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he  respectfully,  "  but  you  do 
not  mean  that  your  friend  is  wiser  than  any  body  alive  ? " 

"  I  did  not  quite  say  that,"  she  answered,  simply.  "  How- 
ever, you  must  give  me  something  he  is  not  likely  to  have 
read — something  very  difficult,  and  first-class,  and  good." 

Now,  if  this  customer  had  been  a  fussy  old  gentleman  in 
spectacles,  or  a  wrinkled  old  lady  in  black  satin,  the  book- 
seller would  have  politely  declined  the  responsibility ;  but 


LIKE  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  121 

there  was  a  good  deal  of  persuasive  influence  in  the  presence 
of  this  tall  and  handsome  girl,  with  the  big  dark  eyes  and  the 
sweetly  parted  lips.  He  did  not  even  laugh  at  her.  He  was 
most  kind  and  patient  in  making  suggestions,  and  in  taking 
her  round  the  shelves.  And  at  last  she  pounced  upon  the 
proper  book  in  triumph  ;  for  she  remembered  to  have  heard 
Mr.  Drummond  complaining  that  Mr.  Darv/in's  last  book  had 
not  arrived  from  the  library,  and  here  were  the  two  green  vol- 
umes of  "  The  Descent  of  Man  "  staring  her  in  the  face. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  you  so  much  trouble,"  she  said, 
with  one  of  her  sweetest  smiles. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  no  trouble  at  all,"  said  the  book-seller, 
with  quite  unusual  emphasis  ;  and  then,  when  the  glass  doors 
had  shut  behind  that  beautiful  vision  of  youthful  grace,  he 
could  not  help  wondering  who  was  the  happy  man  who  had 
won  the  admiration  and  reverence  oE  so  lovely  a  creature. 

So  Violet  and  her  treasures  were  bundled  into  the  ancient 
four-wheeler ;  and  once  more  she  set  out  for  her  journey.  By 
this  time  the  lurid  and  sultry  evening  had  died  down  into  a 
gloomy  and  thunderous  darkness ;  and  by  the  time  she  had 
got  near  to  Camberwell  Grove  night  seemed  to  have  come 
on  prematurely.  The  lamps  were  being  lighted  as  the  first 
low  rumble  of  thunder  was  heard  ;  and  presently  the  people 
began  to  flee  from  the  pavements,  where  the  splashes  of  the 
rain  were  leaving  marks  of  the  breadth  of  half  a  crown.  The 
cabman  stopped  in  order  to  pull  out  a  water-proof  cape. 

"  Why  don't  you  drive  on  and  get  underneath  the  trees  ? " 
she  called  out  to  him  ;  for  they  were  now  near  the  foot  of  the 
Grove. 

When  at  length  he  was  forced  to  pull  up  under  the  thick 
branches  of  the  tall  elms,  the  rain  was  coming  down  in  fierce, 
straight  torrents,  hissing  out  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and 
rushing  down  the  gutter  in  a  brown  flood.  All  the  ominous 
stillness  of  the  evening  had  gone ;  the  wind  had  risen  and 
was  blowing  about  the  summits  of  the  elms  and  poplars; 
there  was  an  echo  of  the  distant  thunder  from  time  to  time  ; 
the  dark-green  branches  swayed  and  creaked.  By  slow  de- 
grees, however,  all  this  noise  and  tumult  ceased ;  there  was  a 
pattering  of  heavy  drops  in  the  trees,  but  less  hissing  of  the 
rain  in  the  road,  as  the  cabman  resumed  his  journey,  and 
proceeded  to  urge  his  patient  steed  up  the  steep  hill. 

Now,  when  Violet  stepped  out  of  the  cab,  up  there  near 
the  top  of  the  hill,  all  the  world  had  grown  clear  and  sweet 
after  the  rain.  There  was  a  look  of  lingering  twilight  in  the 
sky  ;  and  one  or  two-  stars  were  becoming  visible  ;  while  the 


122  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

high,  black  branches  of  the  trees  seemed  to  delight  in  the 
wet,  as  they  stretched  up  there  into  the  pale  serenity  of  the 
heavens.  As  she  walked  round  into  the  garden,  some  quaint 
fancy  struck  her  that  she  was  herself  like  this  sultry  and 
sulky  evening  that  had  at  last  burst  into  torrents  of  rain  and 
then  become  calm  and  serene.  A  great  peacefulness  stole 
in  upon  her  heart  as  she  passed  through  the  small  garden- 
gate  ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  now  she  was  at  home,  and  at 
rest.  And  clear  and  still  as  the  sky  now  was,  with  its  pale 
stars  beginning  to  twinkle,  it  was  no  more  clear,  and  still, 
and  placid  than  the  light  that  shone  in  her  eyes  when  she 
went  forward  to  greet  her  friends. 

They  had  come  out  directly  the  shower  was  over,  to 
breathe  the  sweet  freshness  of  the  air  and  the  scent  of  the 
flowers.  They,  of  course,  were  almost  in  darkness,  but  the 
small  cottage  was  lighted  up;  and  what. could  be  a  more 
cheerful  picture  than  the  open  French  windows  of  the  parlor 
all  aglow  with  orange  light,  and  showing  bright,  warm  snug- 
ness  within  ?  They  were  compassionating  her  on  having  en- 
countered the  fierce  storm.  She  felt  as  though  she  would 
gladly  have  encountered  a  dozen  such  storms  to  reach  this 
haven  of  shelter  and  peace  at  last. 

"Ah!  you  don't  knjDw,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Warrener,  with 
her  arms,  linked  in  hers — "you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  feel 
like  getting  hom«  again." 

"  But  I  know  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say  that,  Violet," 
her  friend,  said ;  "  for  sometimes  I  think  you  are  sure  in  time 
to  go  away  and  forget  all  about  us." 

"  Yes — when  I  am  dead,"  said  the  girl.  "  Not  before 
then." 

They  went  indoors,  and  when  Violet  had  put  her  hat  aside, 
she  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  asked  Amy  to  sing  to  her. 
She  suggested  the  song  too,  for  she  began  to  play  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home  ; "  and  then  the  companion  of  her  school-girl 
days  sung,  in  a  simple,  tender  fashion,  the  old  familiar  bal- 
lad. What  was  James  Drummond  doing  meanwhile  ?  He 
v/as  lying  back  in  his  easy-chair,  regarding  rather  wistfully  the 
figure  at  the  piano,  and  saying  to  himself, 

"  Is  it  possible,  then,  that  this  girl  has  never  had  the  sen- 
sation of  being  at  home  and  at  peace  except  in*  the  house  of 
people  who  are  little  more  than  strangers  to  her  ? " 

She  came  away  from  the  piano,  and  sat  down  on  a  stool 
which  was  lying  on  the  hearth-rug. 

"  You  don't  think  it  a  very  clever  song  !  "  she  said  to  him, 


LIKE  GETTING  HOME  AGAIN.  123 

timidly :  it  was  a  sort  of  apology  for  asking  a  person  of  his 
superior  culture  to  listen  to  school-girl  sentiment. 

"I  don't  think  cleverness  has  much  to  do  with  it,"  said  he. 

"  Did  you  ever  carefully  read  the  words  of  a  song  that 
pleased  you  ?  Does  anybody  ?  No  no.  A  chance  phrase  of 
tenderness  touches  you ;  and  you  give  up  all  the  rest — you 
are  fascinated  by  some  note  of  farewell,  let  us  say,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  lyric,  and  you  forget  afterward  to  look  par- 
ticularly at  the  despairing  sighs,  and  the  raging  main,  and 
the  usual  stock-in-trade  of  the  song-writer.  That  is  how  1 
look  at  it,  anyway.  The  song-writer  has  only  to  catch  you 
with  a  bit  of  melody,  or  sentiment,  and  you  don't  search  for 
sense  subsequently.  But,  indeed,  I  have  always  had  »  sus- 
picion of  rhymed  poetry — " 

Here  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her  knees.  She  had 
started  him  off.     She  was  happy. 

"  I  have  always  a  sort  of  suspicion  that  the  man  has  been 
led  to  overstate,  or  understate,  or  invent  a  new  theory  altogeth- 
er, at  the  diabolical  temptation  of  a  rhyme  or  a  particularly 
catching  phrase.  I  can  not  be  sure  of  it ;  but  I  always  suspect 
it ;  don't  you  see  ?  I  believe  that  the  suggestion  of  a  happy 
rhyme  is  responsible  for  many  a  brilliant  flight  of  fancy  and 
for  many  a  poetical  assertion  that  is  now  taken  to  be  full  of  a 
deep  philosophy.  Oh,  by-the-way,  about  those  lyrics ;  don't 
you  notice  how  many  of  the  Scotch  songs  consist  of  nothing 
but  one  or  two  catching  phrases  continually  repeated  ?  The 
phrase  is  something,  to  sing,  something  a  mother  could  dandle 
a  baby  to ;  there  is  no  sense  in  the  repetition,  no  story  to 
tell — nothing,  in  fact ;  but  the  song  passes  muster  as  a  fine 
song,  for  all  that.  But  talking  about  songs  is  like  scraping  a 
rose-leaf  to  see  where  the  color  is.  Why  did  you  leave  the 
piano,  Violet  ?     Won't  you  sing  something  now  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  no,"  she  said.  "  My  songs  are  all  wicked  songs  : 
they  are  all  about  drinking  and  fighting  ;  for  I  used  to  wish  I 
could  be  a  student  at  a  German  university — that  was  about 
the  only  ambition  I  ever  had — and  be  able  to  drink  flagons 
of  beer,  and  fight  with  broadswords,  and  sing  the  Burschen- 
lieder.  My  songs  are  mostly  Burschenlieder  now — they  are 
too  stormy  for  such  a  quiet,  pleasant  evening.  I  propose 
that  we  go  on  chatting.  Mr.  Drummond,  do  you  really  think 
there  was  ever  such  a  person  as  Ossian  ?  " 

But  this  bid  for  the  higher  criticism  was  too  obvious  :  Mr. 
Drummond  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 

"Miss  Violet,"- said  he,  "you  shall  not  induce  me  to  talk 
your  head  off.     My  dear  friends,  we  will  postpone  our  lecture 


124 


MADCAP  VIOLET. 


on  Ossian  until  we  can  look  across  the  blue  hills  of  Morven — 
more  especially  as  I  hear  the  humble  but  useful  Mary  rattling 
the  supper  things  about  the  place." 

At  this  moment,  indeed,  Mary  came  into  the  room,  and 
began  to  lay  the  cloth. 

"You  were  speaking  of  the  Highlands,"  said  Violet,  timidly. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  fear  we  are  discounting  all  the  pleasures 
of  the  expedition  by  continually  dreaming  and  dreaming  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  not,"  she  said,  rather  wistfully.  "  It  will 
be  most  enjoyable  for  you,  I  know." 

"  But  do  you  know  this  also,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  taking  it 
for  granted  you  are  coming  with  us  too  ?  " 

"  James,"  his  sister  remonstrated,  "  before  you  can  take 
that  for  granted  you  must  speak  to  Lady  North." 

"  I  should  like  to  go,"  Violet  said ;  and  thereafter  she  was 
rather  silent  for  a  time. 

There  were  but  two  things  on  which  James  Drummond 
prided  himself — his  judgment  of  landscapes  and  his  method 
of  making  a  salad.  On  the  present  occasion  this  latter  task, 
as  well  as  that  of  preparing  some  claret-cup,  kept  him  busily 
occupied  for  several  minutes,  during  which  time  nothing 
further  was  said  about  that  projected  journey  northward. 
But  by-and-by,  as  they  all  sat  comfortably  round  the  white 
little  table,  he  began.  It  is  highly  probable  that  he  himself 
imagined  a  general  conversation  was  going  on  about  the  sea, 
and  the  hills,  and  shooting,  and  sailing,  whereas,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  not  a  human  being  spoke  but  himself,  the  others  being 
only  too  delighted  to  listen.  For,  as  he  rambled  on,  it  seemed 
as  if  there  was  a  sound  like  the  lapping  of  sea-waves  in  his 
talk — just  as  there  is  in  the  Mermaid's  song  in  "  Oberon  " — 
and  his  mute  audience  saw,  as  he  himself  seemed  to  see,  a 
succession  of  pictures — the  early  morning,  with  the  scent  of 
sweet-brier  in  the  garden,  and  the  gray  mists  rising  from  the 
far  shoulders  of  Morven — the  glad  forenoons  up  on  the  warm 
hills,  with  the  ring  of  the  blue  sea  all  round  the  land— -the 
idling  in  the  big  boat  with  the  long  lines  over  the  side,  as 
the  red  sun  went  down  in  the  west  and  all  the  water  became 
as  fire — the  delightful  walks  at  night-time,  by  the  shore,  with 
the  sea  plashing,  and  the  cool  winds  stirring  the  scents  of  the 
bushes,  and  the  stars  overhead.  These  were  pleasant  things 
to  think  of  and  to  hear  of  in  the  hopeless  wilderness  of  London. 
They  forgot  the  gas-lamps,  and  the  crowded  hovels,  and  the. 
squalor  and  din  ;  for  they  were  looking  into  an  enchanted 
land,  filled  with  clear  sunshine  and  the  fresh  winds  from  the 
sea.     And,  somehow  or  other,  whether  intentionally  or  not, 


LIKE  GETTING  HOME  AGAIiV. 


125 


Mr.  Drummond  did  take  it  for  granted  that  Violet  North  was 
to  be  with  them.  She  would  see  this,  and  go  there ;  she 
would  have  to  hear  this,  and  be  prepared  for  that.  At  last 
she  cried  out, 

"  Oh,  I  wish  it  were  all  true  !  I  wish  I  were  going  with 
you ! " 

"  And  so  you  are,"  said  he,  promptly. 

"  Lady  North  is  going  to  Venice,"  Violet  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Let  her,"  he  exclaimed,  recklessly. 

"  But  I  am  afraid  we  must  all  go — unless  she  and  I  hap- 
pen to  have  a  fight  before  then,  and  then  she  will  be  glad  to 
get  rid  of  me.  It  is — a  great — temptation,"  she  added, 
thoughtfully. 

"  What  is  ?  "  he  asked,  though  he  guessed  her  meaning,  for 
he  saw  a  mischievous  smile  about  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  decision,  "  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  get  up  a  quarrel  in  order  to  get  away.  She  has  tried  to 
be  very  civil  to  me  ;  and  I  must  try  to  be  civil  too.  But  it  is 
hard  work  to  be  civil  to  some  people." 

They  had  some  further  talk  about  this  Northern  excursion, 
however,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  how  anxious  the  girl  was  to 
go  with  them.  She  seemed  to  cling  to  them  somehow,  as 
though  they  were  her  only  friends.  When  she  was  told  that 
the  cab  was  at  the  door,  she  rose  from  the  table  with  a  sigh  ; 
she  was  tearing  herself  away  from  the  one  place  in  the  world 
where  she  found  peace,  homeliness,  unworldly  friends,  and 
sweet  guidance. 

By-and-by  that  jolting  vehicle  was  rattling  along  the  noisy 
streets,  past  the  glare  of  lighted  shops  and  dingy  groups  of 
human  beings.  Already  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  left 
far  behind  her  all  that  she  knew  of  gentleness,  and  quiet,  and 
tender  companionship.  That  small  household  with  its 
knightly  feeling,  its  unworldly  ways,  its  helpfulness,  and 
charity,  and  wise  counsel — that  indeed  was  home  to  her  ;  and 
as  she  thought  of  it,  the  refrain  of  an  old  German  song — not 
one  of  the  Burschenlieder — seemed  to  speak  to  her,  and  the 
speech  was  sad  enough  : 

"  Far  away — in  the  beautiful  meadows — is  the  house  of  my 
hofue.  Many  a  time  I  went  out  from  it  into  the  valley — O  you 
beautiful  valley!  1  greet  you  a  thousand  times.  Farewell^ 
farewell  I  ^^ 


126  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

MISTAKEN    GUESSES. 

On  the  same  evening  George  Miller  hurried  along  to  his 
club  to  dress  for  a  small  dinner  party  to  which  he  had  been 
invited  by  one  of  his  fellow-members.  He  was  angry  and 
indignant.  He  would  no  longer  be  subject  to  the  caprice  of 
any  woman.  Of  course,  it  flattered  a  girl's  vanity  to  sue  for 
her  hand,  and  meekly  submit  to  any  condition  she  might  im- 
pose ;  but  he  would  have  no  more  of  that.  It  was  an  unsatis- 
factory bargain  in  which  the  concession  was  all  on  one  side. 
Did  she  imagine  that  he  would  enter  upon  the  duties  of  a 
long  courtship,  without  the  least  intimation  from  her  that  any 
thing  would  come  of  it  ?  Was  he  to  pledge  himself,  while 
she  remained  absolutely  free  .-* 

His  host  on  this  occasion  was  a  Mr.  Arthur  Headley,  a 
gentleman  who  had  somehow  or  other  made  a  large  fortune 
in  Australia,  and  come  home  to  spend  it.  He  was  a  singu- 
larly handsome  man,  six  feet  two  in  height,  muscular,  lithe, 
with  fairly  good  features,  and  a  magnificent  brown  beard. 
A  maid-servant  conversant  with  modern  fiction  would  have 
called  him  a  demi-god.  It  is  true,  he  was  rather  a  fool — 
indeed,  his  brain  seemed  to  have  undergone  but  little  modi- 
fication in  its  transmission  from  the  microcephalous  ape ;  but 
then  he  was  a  very  amiable  and  good-natured  person.  There 
was  but  one  spice  of  malice  in  his  nature ;  and  that  declared 
itself  in  his  treatment  of  the  secretary  of  the  club.  He  gen- 
erally spent  the  day  in  worrying  that  harmless  official.  All 
his  literary  faculty  was  employed  in  composing  essays  of 
complaint  to  be  laid  before  the  committee.  There  was  ordi- 
narily more  writing  on  the  back  than  on  the  front  of  his 
dinner-bills.  When  he  walked  in  the  park,  in  deep  medita- 
tion, the  chances  were  a  hundred  to  one  he  was  trying  to 
invent  some  peculiarly  cutting  phrase  to  describe  the  dis- 
gracefully shabby  appearance  of  the  ash-trays  in  the  smoking- 
room,  or  the  shamelessly  careless  fashion  in  which  the  evening 
papers  were  stitched  through  the  middle.  Even  demi-gods 
of  six  feet  two  must  have  an  occupation. 

They  dined  in  a  private  room,  and  the  talk  was  general. 
If  Mr.  Miller  wished  to  forget  the  fickle  race  of  womankind, 
here  was  an  opportunity.  The  table  was  brilliantly  lighted  ; 
the  service  was  quick,  silent,  efficient ;  the  conversation  was 
of  a  simple  and  ingenuous  character.      Indeed,  under  the 


MISTAKEN  GUESSES.  127 

presidency  of  Mr.  Heaclley,  the  talk  chiefly  ran  upon  the  in- 
ternal arrangements  and  comparative  merits  of  other  clubs, 
and  was  directed  to  show  that  no  institution  was  so  badly 
managed  as  the  Judaeum.  One  admired  the  white  and  gold 
of  the  morning-room  at  the  United  Universities' ;  another 
rather  preferred  the  ecclesiastical  gloom  of  the  Junior  Univer- 
sities' ;  another  lamented  the  absence  of  a  good  entrance- 
hall  ;  and  a  fourth,  when  the  steward's  tariff  was  under  dis- 
cussion, suddenly  exclaimed, 

"  Why,  God  bless  my  soul !  do  you  know  they  give  you 
cold  beef  and  a  pint  of  claret  at  the  Reform  for  one-and-two- 
pence — one  shilling  and  twopence  for  your  lunch  ?  "  After 
which  there  was  a  pause  of  awe-struck  silence. 

By-and-by,  however,  when  a  little  wine  had  been  drunk, 
every  body  wished  to  talk,  except  one  ;  and  so  the  conversa- 
tionalists inadvertently  split  themselves  up  into  small  groups. 
That  one  was  Mr.  Miller.  He  was  rather  gloomy.  He  did 
not  seem  to  take  much  interest  in  what  was  going  on  ;  he 
listened,  in  an  abstracted  fashion,  to  this  or  that  controversy 
about  wine,  or  yachts,  or  boot-makers,  and  heeded  but  little. 

Suddenly,  however,  he  heard  something  that  made  his 
heart  jump. 

"  Who  is  that  tall  girl  with  the  white  feather,"  asked  a 
gentleman  on  the  other  side  of  the  table — some  one  having 
been  talking  of  the  Park — "  who  drives  t^e  pair  of  grays  ?  " 

''  Oh,  don't  you  know  ?  "  said  Mr.  Headley,  carelessly. 
''  She's  a  daughter  of  North,  the  railway-man." 

"  She's  an  uncommonly  good-looking  girl,  that's  all  I  know. 
She  has  only  come  quite  lately  into  the  Park." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,"  said  the  host,  "  I  don't  see  any  body 
to  come  near  Lady — " 

"  Headley,"  broke  in  young  Miller,  with  intemperate  wrath, 
"  we  will  drop  this,  if  you  please.  I  happen  to  know  Miss 
North." 

There  was  an  embarrassed  pause ;  the  announcement  of 
the  price  of  cold  beef  at  the  Reform  Club  could  not  have  ex- 
cited more  surprise. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Headley,  good-naturedly,  "  I  beg  a 
thousand  pardons  ;  and  I  envy  you." 

So  the  little  incide^nt  passed  off  quietly  enough  ;  but  was  it 
not  apparent  to  every  one  present  that  there  was  some  spe- 
cial reason  for  the  high  color  on  the  young  man's  face  ?  Of 
course,  if  they  had  known  that  he  was  acquainted  with  Miss 
North,  they  would  not  have  spoken  of  her  ;  but  had  they  said 
any  harm  of  her  ?     Would  he  have  been  as  angry  over  the 


128  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

mention  of  the  name  of  the  Princess  of  Wales,  or  Lady  Dud- 
ley, or  Baroness  Burdett-Coiitts  ?  They  drew  their  own  con- 
ckisions. 

And  as  for  him — this  chance  mention  of  Violet  did  not  in- 
crease his  happiness.  It  was  evident,  then,  that  she  was  at- 
tracting attention,  as  was  natural.  Whatever  imagination  he 
had  was  inflamed  by  a  sudden  and  secret  fire  of  jealousy ; 
and  a  thousand  devils  appeared  in  the  smoke.  He  hated  even 
the  innocent  person  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  who  had 
betrayed  interest  in  Miss  North  by  asking  her  name.  He 
hated  the  idle,  lolling  crowds  in  the  Park,  who  stared,  and 
criticised,  and — worst  of  all — admired. 

Well,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  and  his  companions  went 
up  to  the  smoking-room,  he  stole  off  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
sat  down  to  write  a  letter  to  Violet  North.  It  was  a  very 
penitent  letter.  He  confessed  that  he  had  been  impatient 
and  unreasonable.  If  she  would  forgive  him  this  time,  he 
would  not  again  ask  her  for  any  pledge  or  assurance.  She 
should  be  perfectly  free.  He  would  be  content  if  she  in  the 
mean  time  would  give  him  only  her  friendship,  and  would 
take  his  chance  of  the  future.  And  was  she  going  to  the 
flower-show  at  South  Kensington  on  Thursday .? 

This  letter  he  sent  up  to  Euston  Square  by  the  club  com- 
missionnaire,  so  that  Violet  received  it  when  she  returned  in 
her  four-wheeler  from  visiting  her  friends  in  the  South.  Now 
she  was  in  a  very  gentle  frame  of  mind — she  generally  was 
after  seeing  them.  It  was  evident  the  young  man  was 
grieved  about  their  quarrel ;  and  she  was  sorry  to  have  given 
him  pain.  She  did  not  sit  down  to  answer  the  letter  there 
and  then ;  but  she  resolved  that  the  reply  should  be  a  kind 
and  friendly  one. 

He  received  her  note  the  following  evening  ;  he  had  been 
early  at  his  rooms  to  wait  for  it.  It  was  the  first  scrap  of 
her  writing  that  had  come  into  his  possession  :  a  thrill  went 
through  his  heart  even  as  he  looked  at  his  own  name  out- 
side written  by  her  hand.  He  opened  the  envelope  quickly  ; 
his  eyes  seemed  to  catch  the  sense  of  the  page  before  he  had 
time  to  read  the  lines  ;  he  knew  at  least  she  was  not  deeply 
offended.  He  read  the  letter,  and  then  got  up  and  went  to 
the  window,  and  stared  down  into  Half  Moon  Street.  He 
read  it  again,  and  kept  staring  at  the  paper,  mechanically 
noticing  the  curious  fashion  (apparently  French)  in  which  she 
formed  her  capital  /'s.  He  read  it  over  tw®  or  three  times, 
and  yet  seemed  possessed  with  the  notion  that  he  ought  to  dis- 
cover more  from  these  simple  words. 


MISTAKEN  GUESSES.  129 

There  was,  indeed,  a  studied  simplicity  about  them.  She 
told  him,  briefly  and  plainly,  that  she  hoped  they  would  re- 
main good  friends ;  that  the  cause  of  this  recent  disagree- 
ment was  well  known  to  both  of  them,  and  could  be  avoided  ; 
and  that  she  was  very  glad  he  had  pointed  out  to  her  the 
necessity  of  guarding  against  misconstruction. 

He  was  very  soon  -to  find  out  what  the  last  phrase  meant. 

Violet  went  with  Lady  North  and  her  daughters  to  the 
flower-show,  and  there,  naturally  enough,  was  Mr.  George 
Miller,  very  smartly  dressed,  a  trifle  self-conscious,  and  obvi- 
ously anxious  to  be  attentive  to  the  whole  party.  The  bright 
summer-day,  the  rich  masses  of  colors,  the  sweet  and  ever- 
varying  perfumes,  and  the  cheerful  music  outside — all  this 
was  pleasant  enough ;  and  Violet,  who  was  not  sated  with 
the  ordinary  sights  and  occupations  of  London  life,  was  en- 
joying herself  thoroughly,  and  was  most  friendly  in  her  treat- 
ment of  him.  A  rumor  that  some  royal  personages  had  ar- 
rived, and  were  going  through  one  of  the  tents,  caused  a  gen- 
tle rush  of  the  crowd  in  that  direction,  and  with  the  crowd 
went  Lady  North  and  her  daughter ;  so  that  inadvertently 
Violet  and  Mr.  Miller  were  left  by  themselves,  if  not  quite 
alone.  That  did  not  make  any  alteration  in  her  manner — she 
was  deeply  interested  at  the  moment  in  a  sensitive-plant — but 
it  did  in  his. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  have  nothing  of  yours 
that — that  I  can  keep  by  me.     Will  you  give  me  a  flower  .-*  " 

She  turned  round  with  something  of  coldness  in  her  man- 
ner. 

"  That  would  be  flirtation,  would  it  not .''  "  she  asked,  with 
some  dignity. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  raking  up  that  quarrel  ?  "  he  said,  in 
an  injured  way.     "I  thought  that  was  to  be  forgotten." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  measured  and  clear 
fashion,  "  but  not  the  lesson  of  it.  I  think  it  is  better  we 
should  have  a  distinct  understanding  about  that.  I  do  not 
wish  to  do  any  thing  you  can  reproach  me  with  afterward  ; 
for  who  can  tell  what  may  happen  ? " 

Her  meaning  was  clear  enough.  She  was  determined  to 
give  him  none  of  that  "  encouragement  "  on  which  he  might 
presume  to  found  a  claim,  or  to  substantiate  a  charge  of 
fickleness  and  treachery.  It  came  to  this  then  :  if  he  liked  to 
have  their  present  relations  continue,  well  and  good ;  but  it 
was  distinctly  to  be  recognized  that  she  was  not  responsible. 
Now  this  was  an  intelligible  position  to  be  taken  up  by  a 
young  woman  who  did  not  find  that  she  cared  about  a  young 


I30  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

man  to  that  degree  which  would  warrant  her  in  encouraging 
his  hopes ;  but  it  could  not  be  expected  to  recommend  itself 
to  the  young  man. 

"  I  think  you  are  very  hard  on  me,"  said  he,  rather 
gloomily. 

"Oh,  don't  think  so ! "  she  said,  quickly,  with  an  anxious 
kindness  in  her  eyes.  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  so,  at  any  rate. 
But  it  is  not  fair  to  you,  nor  to  myself,  that — that — " 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  You  can  not  forgive 
me  for  that  one  phrase." 

"  Indeed  I  have,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  Only  it  opened 
my  eyes.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  letting  you  go  to  papa. 
But  you  know  you  told  me  that  I  was  absolutely  unpledged 
— that  it  was  all  a  '  perhaps  ' — that  you  were  quite  content 
to  wait  and  see — " 

"  And  so  I  am  !  "  he  said,  with  unusual  decision  of  manner, 
and  his  voice  was  low  and  rapid.  "  I  don't  care  what  hap- 
pens :  I  am  too  deeply  pledged  already ;  you  can  be  as  free 
as  you  like.  Men  have  done  more  foolish  things  for  smaller 
prizes.  I  will  take  my  chance.  And  yet,  1  don't  think  most 
girls  are  as  hard  as  that — " 

"  I  wall  give  you  a  flower,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  said. 

She  looked  around,  and  at  length  descried  a  bit  of  blossom 
that  had  fallen  or  been  cut  off. 

"  Will  that  do  .?"  she  asked. 

He  took  it  from  her,  threw  it  on  the  ground,  and  kicked  it 
aside. 

"  I  don't  want  it  from  you  in  that  way.  I  will  wait  until 
you  can  give  me  a  flower  without  looking  as  if  I  had  put  you 
on  the  tread-mill." 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  am  sorry  we  should 
quarrel  so.  Shall  we  go  and  see  where  Lady  North  has 
gone  ? " 

"  Violet ! "  he  said,  "  I — I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  wish 
to  quarrel ;  but  yet  it  seems  hard  that  you  should  be  so  proud 
and  indifferent — and  I  get  angry,  that's  a  fact — but  I  am 
very  sorry.     Come,  let  us  be  friends  again." 

"Very  well,"  she  said. 

"  Give  me  another  bit  of  flower  ? " 

She  began  to  laugh. 

"  Isn't  this  just  a  little  too  childish  ?  You  make  me  think 
I  am  back  at  Miss  Main's  again,  and  quarreling  over  a  bit  of 
slate-pencil.     The  flowers  don't  belong  to  me." 

"  It  may  be  childish,  and  very  ridiculous,  to  you ;  but  it 


MISTAKEN  GUESSES.  131 

isn't  quite  so  to  rae.  However,  I  will  wait  for  that  flower. 
Perhaps  you  will  give  it  to  me  some  day.'' 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  to  tease  me  until  I  do  ?  " 

*'  If  I  thought  that  would  get  it  for  me,  I  would." 

"  I  have  heard  of  girls  being  teased  into  an  engagement- 
giving  in  through  sheer  weariness.  I  think  it  is  rather  dan- 
gerous. I  should  fancy  the  man  would  take  his  revenge  out 
after  the  marriage  ;  for  of  course  he  would  look  on  her  pre- 
vious disinclination  as  mere  perversity." 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  me  the  chance,"  he  said,  with  a 
bright  look  on  his  face.  "  You  would  see  what  revenge  I 
should  take." 

The  aspiration  was  an  honest  one.  Young  Miller  had  a 
fair  and  moderate  notion  of  his  own  merits.  He  knew  he 
could  not  paint  fine  pictures  of  his  sweetheart,  or  write  poetry 
about  her,  or  do  any  thing  particularly  romantic  or  imagina- 
tive ;  but  he  had  heard  in  his  time  of  these  dilettante  fellows 
marrying  the  objects  of  their  adoration  only  to  neglect  them 
for  flirtations  with  other  women.  He,  now,  was  a  plain  and 
practical  person ;  but  he  could  assure  his  wife  an  honest  and 
attentive  husband,  who  would  work  hard  for  her,  and  see 
that  she  lived  in  good  style.  If  he  only  had  the  chance,  as 
he  said,  Violet  would  see  what  a  husband  hewouldmake. 

Unfortunately  this  remark  of  his  only  alarmed  her.  It 
seemed  as  though,  whatever  she  might  say  to  him,  the  con- 
versation always  led  up  to  this  one  point ;  and  the  girl  nat- 
urally blamed  herself  for  so  "  encouraging  "  him.  She  im- 
mediately became  rather  reserved  in  manner,  and  insisted  on 
going  off  in  search  of  her  friends. 

They  found  them  easily  enough  ;  but,  in  strolling  about 
the  grounds,  Mr.  Miller  had  plenty  of  opportunities  of  talking 
to  Violet  by  herself. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  the  Royal  Academy  conversa- 
zione ? "  said  he. 

"  Would  it  be  making  an  appoijitment  if  I  said  I  was  ? "  she 
asked,  with  gentle  malice. 

"  No,  it  would  not ;  for  I  haven't  got  a  card." 

*'  Then  I  am  going.  Lady  North  will  take  Anatolia  and 
me  ;  papa  doesn't  care  about  it." 

*'  I  should  like  to  go,"  young  Miller  said,  wistfully.  "  I  sup- 
pose Mr  Drummond  would  let  me  have  his  card  for  once  ? " 

"  I  hope  you  won't  ask  him,"  said  Violet,  sharply. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  said,  innocently.  "  It  is  no  novelty  to 
him.     He   knows    all  those    artist-fellows.     What  is  a  con- 


132  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

versazione  more  or  less  to  him  ?     He  does  not  go  to  one-fifth 
of  the  places  he  is  asked  to." 

"You  have  no  right  to  demand  such  a  favor,"  she  said. 
"  Besides,  the  cards  are  sent  to  particular  people :  they  are 
not  to  be  bandied  about  like  that.  And  I  know  that  Mr. 
Drummond  is  going." 

"  Oh,  you  know  he  is  going  ?  "        * 

"  Yes.  But  I  know  he  would  give  the  card  to  any  body 
who  asked  him — if  that  is  allowed :  so  I  hope  you  won't  ask 
him." 

"  You  seem  very  anxious  to  see  him." 

"Yes,  I  am — at  least,  not  anxious  ;  but,  of  course,  I  hope 
to  see  him." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  carelessly,  "  I  can  easily  get 
a  card,  if  I  want  to  go,  without  asking  Mr.  Drummond.  I 
know  a  two-penny-half-penny  sort  of  a  fellow  called  Lavender, 
who  is  good  at  every  thing  but  earning  a  farthing  of  his  own 
money,  and  he  will  get  me  a  card.  I  suppose  a  hundred  will 
go  to  look  at  the  princes,  and  one  to  look  at  the  pictures." 

"  Then,  I  hope  you  will  be  that  one,"  said  Violet,  sweetly. 

"You  know  what  I  shall  go  for,"  he  said  ;  and  she  turned 
away  at  that :  the  conversation  had  again  led  up  to  one  of 
those  awkward  climaxes,  which  seemed  to  pledge  her  more 
and  more,  however  definitely  she  protested. 

So  the  days  went  by  at  this  time  ;  the  young  man  paying 
her  very  nearly  as  much  attention  as  though  an  engagement 
had  existed  between  ihem  ;  she  secretly  fearing,  and  yet 
sheltering  herself  behind  repeated  explanations  that  she  was 
absolutely  free,  and  unprejudiced  by  any  of  his  hopes  and  as- 
pirations. Occasionally,  of  course,  she  could  not  help  being 
kind  to  him  :  for  she  really  liked  him  ;  and  his  patient  de- 
votion to  her  moved  her  pity.  Many  a  time  she  wished  he 
would  go  ;  and  then  she  hesitated  to  inflict  on  him  the  pain 
of  dismissal.     It  was  altogether  a  dangerous  position. 

The  days  going  by,  too,  were  gradually  bringing  the  Lon- 
don season  to  an  end;  and' people  were  talking  of  their  au- 
tumn tours.  Violet  had  not  ventured  to  ask  Lady  North  to 
let  her  accompany  Mrs.  Warrener  to  the  Highlands ;  but  she 
had  spoken  about  this  trip,  and  hinted  that  she  would  rather 
be  going  thither  than  to  Venice.  Mrs.  Warrener  had  not 
ceased  to  entreat  her  to  come  with  them. 

One  bright  forenoon  a  pair  of  small  grays  were  being 
driven  briskly  up  Camberwell  Grove  by  a  young  lady,  who 
seemed  pleased  enough  with  her  task.  It  was  a  fresh  clear 
day  in  July ;  the  yellow  road  ascending  before  her  was  barred 


MISTAKEN  GUESSES.  133 

across  by  the  gray  shadows  of  the  chestnuts  ;  here  and  there 
a  Mme-tree  sweetened  the  air,  for  there  had  been  rain  in  the 
morning.  Her  only  companion  was  the  man  behind,  who 
was  doing  his  best  to  watch  over  a  number  of  potted  fuchsias, 
which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  being  an  elderly  cupid  in 
a  grove  of  flowers.  The  phaeton  was  pulled  up  at  the  gate 
leading  to  a  certain  boarding-school ;  and  the  man,  struggling 
out  from  among  the  fuchsias,  jumped  down,  and  went  to  the 
horse's  heads. 

Now,  this  was  rather  a  tall  and  shapely  young  lady  who 
went  into  the  boarding-school ;  and  she  wore  a  tight-sleeved 
and  tight-fitting  dress  of  chocolate-colored  homespun,  with  a 
broad-brimmed  hat  and  bold  feather  of  the  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds period,  just  then  coming  into  fashion ;  and  altogether 
she  presented  so  fine  and  commanding  an  appearance  that 
the  small  school-mistress,  on  coming  in,  was  overcome  with 
astonishment,  and  could  only  say, 

"  Oh,  Miss  North  !  " 

Yet  Miss  North  was  not  an  apparition — at  least,  appari- 
tions do  not  ordinarily  shake  one  firmly  by  the  hand,  and  say, 
with  a  bright  smile, 

"  You  remember  me  ?  Have  I  grown  .?  Oh,  Miss  Main,  it 
is  very  strange  to  call  on  you ;  for  the  moment  I  came  into 
the  hall  I  fancied  I  was  going  to  be  punished — I  suppose  you 
remember — " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember,"  said  the  school-mistress,  with  a 
shrewd  smile ;  and  yet  she  was  still  puzzled  by  the  alteration 
in  this  old  pupil  of  hers,  and  had  scarcely  the  presence  of 
mind  to  ask  her  to  sit  down. 

"  But  I  thought  I  would  bring  something  to  propitiate  you," 
this  handsome  young  lady  continued,  with  the  greatest  self- 
possession  and  cheerfulness,  "  so  that  you  won't  give  me 
twenty  pages  of  '  Minna  von  Barnhelm '  to  translate.  It  is 
some  fuchsias — they  are  outside  :  will  you  please  to  ask  Eliz- 
abeth to  fetch  them  in  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  so  kind  of  you,  Miss  North,"  said  the  school- 
mistress (she  had  not  even  yet  sated  her  wonder  and  curios- 
ity over  the  young  lady's  dress  and  appearance  and  manner) ; 
"  but  I  suppose  you  don't  know  Elizabeth  has  left  us.  She 
left  to  get  married  more  than  a  year  ago." 

"  I  thought  she  would,"  said  Miss  North  calmly.  "  I  used 
to  write  her  love-letters  for  her.  How  much  of  '  Mina  von 
Barnhelm  '  should  I  have  had  to  translate  if  you  had  found 
that  out,  Miss  Main  ?  " 


f34 


MADCAP  VIOLET. 


*'  Indeed,"  said  the  school-mistress,  frankly,  "  I  think  you 
were  the  wickedest  girl  I  ever  had  in  my  school." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  right,"  said  Miss  North,  meekly. 

"  But  what  a  change  there  is,  to  be  sure  !  That's  what  I 
often  said — I  often  said  you  would  never  be  brought  under 
proper  control  until  you  were  married — " 

*'  But  I  am  not  married  yet.  Miss  Main,"  said  the  young 
lady,  with  heightened  color. 

"  It  will  not  be  long,  then,  I  dare  say,"  replied  the  school- 
mistress. 

"  Indeed,  it  will  be  a  very  long  time — it  will  be  always 
and  altogether,"  said  Miss  North,  promptly. 

"  You  mean  never  to  get  married  "i  " 

"  Certainly." 

After  that,  Miss  Main  thought  she  might  as  well  send  for 
the  fuchsias ;  and  when  the  flowers  were  brought  in,  she  was 
greatly  pleased  by  this  instance  of  friendliness  on  the  part  of 
her  old  pupil,  and  she  would  have  had  her  sit  down,  and  have 
some  strawberries  and  cake.  But  Miss  North  could  not  wait 
to  partake  of  these  earthly  joys. 

"  I  am  going  on  at  once  to  Mr.  Drummond's,"  she  said. 

"  Mr.  Drummond  is  not  at  home,"  said  Miss  Main,  hoping 
to  have  an  opportunity  of  showing  Lady  North's  daughter  to  a 
later  generation  of  scholars  ;  "  I  saw  him  pass  here  about  an 
hour  ago." 

"  I  know,"  said  Violet ;  "  this  is  the  morning  he  goes  co 
that  society  in  Jermyn  Street.  It  is  Mrs.  Warrener  I  am  go- 
ing to  see." 

So,  with  many  a  friendly  word,  and  promise  to  repeat  the 
visit,  she  got  into  the  phaeton  again  and  drove  on  up  the  hill. 
She  found  Mrs.  Warrener  alone,  as  she  had  expected.  She 
took  off  her  hat  and  put  it  on  the  table.  Then  she  proposed 
they  should  go  out  into  the  garden. 

"  For  I  have  something  of  great  importance  to  say  to  you," 
she  said,  solemnly. 

"  Indeed  !  "  remarked  Mrs.  Warrener,  expecting  to  hear  of 
another  quarrel  with  Lady  North. 

"Oh,  it  is  no  laughing  matter,"  Violet  said  at  once.  "  It 
is  simply  this :  Am  I  or  am  I  not  to  get  engaged  to  Mr.  Mil- 
ler ? " 

"Violet!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Warrener,  astounded  by  the 
girl's  direct  habit  of  speech.  "  You  can  not  be  talking  seri- 
ously.    Why  should  you  ask  such  a  question  of  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  no  one  else  to  go  to  for  advice,"  she  an- 
swered, simply. 


MISTAKEN  GUESSES.  135 

"  But  surely  that  is  a  matter  on  which  no  girl  needs  advice. 
It  ought  to  be  determined  by  your  own  feelings." 

"  If  that  were  all,  I  shoulcl  have  no  difficulty,"  said  the 
young  lady,  not  without  some  pride  in  her  tone.  "  I  don't 
wish  to  marry  any  body.  I  would  rather  be  free  from  all  the 
— the  bother  and  persecution — " 

"  Then  why  should  you  suffer  it .''  " 

"  Well,"  said  she,  looking  down,  "  perhaps  you  may  have 
partly  brought  it  on  yourself  by  your  own  carelessness ;  and 
you  don't  wish  to — to  appear — unkind — " 

They  had  now  got  out  into  the  garden. 

"Violet,"  Mrs  Warrener  said,  distinctly,  "this  is  the  ques- 
tion :  Do  you  really  care  for  him  ?  " 

"  N-no,"  the  girl  stammered. 

"  Then  why  not  tell  him  so  ?  " 

"  You  can  not  be  going  about  insulting  your  friends  in  that 
way." 

"  All  your  friends  are  not  asking  you  to  marry  them." 

"Oh,  that  is  a  different  matter,"  said  Violet,  earnestly. 
"  He  does  not  ask  me  to  marry  him — not  at  all.  This  that 
he  is  always  asking  for  is  only  an  engagement ;  and  I  am  not 
to  be  bound  by  it  in  any  way — " 

"  Now,  what  do  you  really  mean  ? "  her  friend  said,  seri- 
ously. "Or  what  can  he  mean  by  such  proposals  ?  What 
sort  of  an  engagement  is  it  that  binds  him,  and  leaves  you 
free  ?  And  what  sort  of  an  engagement  is  it  that  does  not 
promise  marriage  ? " 

"  Well,  that  is  what  he  proposes,"  said  Violet,  doggedly. 
"  He  knows  quite  well  that  I  will  not  promise  to  marry  him ; 
for  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  any  body.  And  he  does  not  even 
talk  of  that  now." 

They  walked  about  for  a  bit,  Mrs  Warrener  saying  nothing. 
At  last  she  said, 

"  I  think  I  see  how  it  is.  The  notion  of  marriage  frightens 
you — or  you  are  too  proud  to  like  the  idea  of  the  submission 
and  surrender  of  marriage — and  Mr.  Miller,  being  a  shrewd 
young  man,  has  found  that  out,  so  he  wants  you  to  enter  into  a 
vague  engagement — which  will  not  frighten  you,  or  alarm  you 
about  the  loss  of  your  independence  ;  and  you  apparently 
don't  quite  know  what  it  means.     Take  care  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  knov/,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  the  girl  said, 
quite  humbly,  "you  don't  know  what  I  think  about  these 
things,  if  you  fancy  I  am  so  proud  as  that,  or  that  I  should 
like  to  be  always  independent.  If  I  were  to  marry  any  man, 
I  should  like  to  feel  myself  quite  helpless  beside  him — looking 


136  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

to  him  always  for  guidance  and  wisdom — I  should  be  his  one 
worshiper,  and  every  thing  he  might  do  would  be  right  to  me. 
I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself  to  even  dream  of  independ- 
ence. But  then — but  then — "  she  added,  with  her  eyes  still 
cast  down,  "  the  men  you  can  admire  and  trust  like  that  are 
not  often  met  with  :  at  least,  for  my  part,  I  have  only — " 

^'  You  must  have  met  one,  anyway,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener, 
with  a  kindly  smile. 

"  Oh  no,  not  necessarily,"  the  girl  said,  almost  with  alarm. 
"  It  is  a  fancy  of  mine  :  you  know  the  nonsense  that  gets  into 
a  school-girl's  head." 

Mrs.  Warrener,  with  such  ability  as  she  possessed,  and  wath 
a  wonderful  and  friendly  patience,  was  trying  to  understand 
this  girl  and  her  odd  and  apparently  contradictory  sentiments. 
The  only  key  to  these  that  the  worthy  little  woman  could 
find  was  this  :  Here  was  a  proud,  self-willed  girl,  who  had  a 
sweetheart  whom  she  regarded  with  a  more  tender  affection 
than  she  cared  to  disclose.  Like  most  girls,  she  chose  to  be 
very  reticent  on  that  point ;  if  questioned,  she  would  answer 
with  a  stammering  "  N-no."  On  the  other  hand,  the  sweet- 
heart is  impatient  of  these  mystifications,  and  wishes  her  to 
promise  to  marry  him.  She  rebels  against  this  pressure  put 
upon  her;  treats  him  with  undeserved  coldness,  but,  all  the 
same,  comes  to  a  friend  to  see  what  the  world  would  think  of 
her  entering  into  some  sort  of  engagement.  She  wishes 
some  one  to  tell  her  she  can  enter  into  this  engagement  with- 
out exposing  herself  to  the  suspicion — against  which  she  re- 
volts— that  her  secret  affection  is  stronger  than  her  pride. 

Such  was  Mrs.  Warrener's  theory.  It  was  ingenious 
enough,  and  it  was  but  a  natural  deduction  from  what  she  had 
seen  of  the  conduct  of  many  girls  in  similar  circumstances, 
only  it  was  altogether  wrong  in  the  case  of  Violet  North,  and 
it  was  the  parent  of  a  terrible  amount  of  mischief. 

"Violet,"  said  she,  in  her  kindly  way,  "it  is  no  use  my 
advising  you,  for  a  girl  never  quite  tells  you  what  her  real 
feelings  are  about  a  young  man.  You  said  you  did  not  care 
about  Mr.  Miller — " 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  said  that  I  hke  him  very  well," 
she  said,  looking  down.  "  There  is  no  doubt  about  that.  I 
like  him  far  better  than  any  of  the  young  men  I  have  met,  for 
he  is  less  languid,  and  he  does  not  patronize  you,  and  talk  to 
you  as  if  you  were  a  baby ;  he  is  earnest  and  sincere — and 
then,  when  you  see  how  anxious  he  is  to  be  kind  to  you — " 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Mrs  Warrener,  with  some  little  show  of 
triumph,  "  I  thought  there  was  something  behind  all  that  reluc- 


AMONG  SOME  PICTURES.  137 

tance  of  yours,  Violet.  It  is  the  way  with  all  you  girls.  You 
will  admit  nothing.  You  don't  care  for  anybody.  You  posi- 
tively hate  the  notion  of  being  married.  But,  all  the  same, 
you  go  and  submit  to  be  married,  just  like  your  mothers  be- 
fore you,  and  there  is  an  end  of  pretense  then." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  the  girl,  with 
flushed  cheeks,  "  that  I  have  been  asking  you  to  advise  me  to 
get  married  ? " 

"  No,  no,  Violet,"  her  friend  said,  gently.  *'  You  wouldn't 
do  that.  But  I  think  I  can  see  the  end  of  all  this  hesita- 
tion." 

"  What  end,  then  ?" 

"  You  will  marry  Mr.  Miller." 

"  I  am  not  married  to  Mr.  Miller  yet,"  she  said,  almost 
coldly ;  and  then  she  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

Another  part  of  her  mission  was  to  deliver  an  invitation  to 
her  two  friends  in  the  South  to  dine  at  Euston  Square  on  the 
evening  of  the  Royal  Academy  soiree.  Sir  Acton  would  be  up 
in  Yorkshire  ;  perhaps  Mr.  Drummond  would  kindly  assume 
the  guardianship  of  the  small  party  of  ladies.  Mrs.  Warrener 
could  not,  of  course,  answer  for  her  brother,  but  she  was  sure 
he  would  do  anything  to  please  Violet. 

Then  the  young  lady  went  her  way.  Why  did  she  drive  so 
fast  ? — her  mouth  proud  and  firm,  her  figure  erect. 

"  I  am  not  married  yet" — this  was  what  she  was  saying  to 
herself — "  they  will  have  to  wait  a  little  while  before  they  see 
me  married !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

AMONG   SOME   PICTURES. 

This  almost  seemed  a  small  family  party  that  was  met 
round  Lady  North's  dinner-table ;  and  it  was,  in  any  case,  a 
sufficiently  merry  one.  Mr.  Drummond  was  in  one  of  his 
gravely  extravagant  moods ;  and  Lady  North,  following  his 
whimsicalities  as  far  as  her  fancy  permitted,  was  amused,  in  a 
fashion,  though  she  was  very  often  puzzled.  For  who  could 
tell  whether  this  bright-eyed  man,  with  his  discursive  talk,  his 
impossible  stories,  his  sham  advice,  was  in  jest  or  earnest  ? 
Violet  was  delighted ;  perhaps  the  occasional  bewilderment 
of  Lady  North  did  not  lessen  her  enjoyment. 

"  But  did  you  never  hear,"  said  he,  when  his  hostess  was 


138  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

complaining  seriously  about  the  way  in  which  certain  grocer- 
ies or  other  things  were  adulterated ;  "  did  you  never  hear, 
Lady  North,  of  the  man  who  starved  himself  rather  than  be 
cheated  ? " 

"  N-no,"  said  she,  with  wide  eyes. 

Violet  smiled  to  herself.  She  knew  there  was  no  such 
person.  There  never  had  been  any  such  person.  He  was 
continually  lugging  in  imaginary  men  of  straw,  and  making 
them  toss  their  impossible  arms  about. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  continued,  calmly ;  "  he  was  a  very  strict 
and  just  man,  and  he  was  so  indignant  over  the  way  this 
tradesman  and  the  next  tradesman  cheated  him,  that  he  cut 
off  the  supplies,  one  after  the  other,  to  revenge  himself  on 
them.  First  the  butcher  went,  because  he  was  always  sending 
'  in  short  measure.  Then  the  baker  went,  because  of  alum  and 
other  tricks.  At  last  this  man  was  living  on  nothing  but 
milk,  when  it  occurred  to  him  to  have  the  milk  analyzed. 
There  was  about  thirty  per  cent,  added  water  in  it;  and  that 
went  to  his  heart.  His  last  hope  was  gone.  To  spite  the 
milkman,  he  resolved  to  cut  off  the  milk  too  :  and  so  he  shut 
himself  up  in  a  room,  and  died ;  his  protest  could  go  no  far- 
ther than  that.  You  see.  Lady  North,  we  must  make  up  our 
mind  to  be  cheated  a  good  deal ;  and  to  take  it  with  a  good 
temper.  An  equable  temper  is  the  greatest  gift  a  man  can 
possess.  I  suppose  you've  heard  of  the  duke  who  had  every 
thing  he  could  desire,  and  who  died  of  anxiety  ?  " 

Violet  nearly  burst  out  laughing  this  time.  Of  course 
there  was  no  such  duke. 

"Oh  yes  ;  he  was  so  afraid  of  having  his  pictures,  and  rare 
engravings,  and  old  jewelry  burned,  that  he  set  about  getting 
them  all  in  duplicate  ;  and  he  had  a  duplicate  house  built 
to  receive  them.  But  of  course  it  was  no  use.  He  could 
not  get  complete  sets  of  the  engravings ;  and  he  used  to 
wander  about  Italian  towns  searching  for  old  glass  and  jew- 
elry until  he  grew  to  be  a  haggard  and  awful  skeleton. 
Care  killed  him  in  the  end.  If  you  keep  brooding  over  all 
the  possibilities  of  life,  you  can. not  avoid  being  miserable. 
I  once  knew  a  man — " 

Still  another  ?  Violet  began  to  think  of  the  dozen  "  supers  " 
in  the  theatre,  who  are  marched  round  and  round  the  scenery, 
to  represent  the  ceaseless  procession  of  an  army. 

" — who  used  to  be  quite  unhappy  whenever  he  eat  a  her- 
ring; for  he  used  to  wonder  whether  a  herring  ever  had 
rheumatism,  and  then  he  considered  how  dreadfully  a  herring 
must  suffer  in  such  a  case,  from  the  quantity  of  bones  it  had. 


AA/OjVG  some  pictures.  139 

But  of  course  you  can  not  always  command  your  fancies,  and 
say  that  you  will  be  free  from  anxiety ;  and  the  most  helpless 
time  I  know  is  early  in  the  morning,  if  one  has  wakened  pre- 
maturely, and  can  not  get  to  sleep  again.  Then  a  touch  of 
hoarseness  in  the  throat  conjures  up  visions  of  diphtheria  ;  and 
if  you  cannot  recollect  some  trifling  matter,  you  begin  to  look 
on  the  lapse  of  memory  as  a  warning  of  complete  mental 
breakdown  and  insanity.  Every  thing  is  bad,  then ;  all 
your  affairs  are  going  to  the  dogs ;  you  have  offended  your 
dearest  friend.  But  at  breakfast-time,  don't  you  wonder  how 
you  could  have  been  so  foolish  as  to  vex  yourself  about  noth- 
ing .?  The  increased  vitality  of  the  system  clears  the  brain 
of  forebodings.  There  are  other  times,  too,  in  which  the 
imagination  is  stronger  than  the  reason.  I  once  knew  a  very 
learned  man — " 

Another ! 

" — who  decared  to  me  that  sea-sickness  was  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten  a  matter  of  apprehension  ;  and  that  he  knew  he 
could  argue  himself  into  a  quiescent  mood  that  would  defy 
the  waves.  But  just  as  we  were  going  on  board  the  boat,  he 
looked  up  and  saw  a  cloud  sailing  smoothly  along ;  and  I 
could  see  he  was  thinking  Vv^ith  a  great  longing  how  fme  it 
would  be  to  lie  down  in  that  cloud  and  be  taken  quietly 
across — " 

"  Was  he  ill  in  crossing  ?  "  demanded  the  literal  little 
woman  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

Mr.  Drummond  started.  He  had  conjured  up  the  incident 
so  far,  but  he  knew  nothing  further. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  ;  and  Lady  North  wondered  how 
a  reasonable  person  could  tell  a  story  and  leave  out  its  chief 
■point  of  interest. 

That  evening  a  young  man  was  flitting  rather  restlessly 
about  the  entrance-hall  of  Burlington  House,  watching  the 
successive  carriages  come  up,  and  the  successive  parties  of 
ladies,  with  their  long  trains  flowing  on  the  stairs,  pass  up  to 
have  their  names  announced  above.  He  kept  looking  at  his 
watch ;  then  at  the  next  carriage  that  came  up  ;  and  was 
altogether  restless  and  dissatisfied. 

At  length,  however,  a  particular  carriage  came  rolling  into 
the  court-yard,  and  he  swiftly  went  down  the  broad  stone 
steps.  He  himself  opened  the  door.  Who  was  the  first  to 
step  out  into  the  light  ?  A  tall  young  girl,  who  had  appar- 
ently had  her  dress  designed  by  an  artist,  for  it  was  all  of  a 
radiant  lemon-yellow  silk,  the  sleeves  alone,  near  the  shoulder, 
being  slashed  with   black  velvet ;   while   in    her    jet-black 


140  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

masses  of  hair  were  intertwined  leaves  and  blossoms  of  the 
yellow-white  jassamine.     She  looked  surprised. 

"  Then  you  have  come,  after  all  ? "  she  said,  when  he  was 
assisting  her  three  companions  out  of  the  carriage. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  adding,  "  How  fortunate  I  should  meet 
you  here,  Lady  North  !     You  have  no  one  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Lady  North.  "  Mr.  Drummond  is  coming 
directly,  in  a  hansom." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  in,"  said  the  young  man  :  "he 
will  find  you  readily  enough  when  he  comes." 

"  Oh  no,"  remarked  the  young  lady  with  the  pale-yellow 
flowers  in  her  hair — and  she  spoke  with  some  decision — 
"  we  shall  wait  for  him  here.  I  particularly  wish  Mr.  Drum- 
mond to  take  Lady  North  through  the  people,  because  he 
knows  every  one." 

Well,  the  young  man  had  no  objection  to  that ;  _or,  of 
course,  he  would  be  left  in  charge  of  the  others.  Then  Mr. 
Drummond  came  up,  light-hearted,  buoyant,  and  careless; 
and  indeed  it  seemed  to  the  younger  man  that  this  tall  and 
good-humored  person,  when  he  undertook  to  escort  a  party 
of  ladies  to  the  Royal  Academy  conversazione,  might  at  least 
have  taken  the  trouble  to  tie  his  neck-tie  a  little  more  accu- 
rately. 

They  passed  up  the  stairs.  They  caught  a  glimpse  of 
many  faces  and  bright  lights.  Their  names  were  announced  ; 
Sir  Francis,  standing  near  the  door,  shook  hands  with  Mr. 
Drummond  as  with  an  old  friend  ;  they  made  their  way  along 
the  narrow  lane  that  had  been  formed  by  people  curious  to 
see  the  new  arrivals.  Which  of  this  party  attracted  most 
attention  ?  Mrs.  Warrener,  who  was  by  the  side  of  Violet, 
knew  well — whether  or  not  the  girl  herself  was  aware — how 
all  eyes  followed  her  as  she  passed. 

If  she  was  aware  of  it,  she  was  not  much  embarrassed. 
They  had  scarcely  got  well  into  the  miscellaneous  crowd 
when  she  suddenly  caught  her  companion's  arm. 

"  Listen ! " 

There  was  a  sound  of  soft  and  harmonious  music,  the  deep 
voices  of  men,  and  the  playing  of  instruments;  and  then 
high  above  that,  rising  as  it  were  to  the  vaulted  roof,  the 
clear  singing  of  boys — singing  as  with  the  one  strong,  high, 
and  sweet  voice  of  a  woman. 

"  Where  are  they  singing  ? "  Violet  asked  ;  and  then  she 
led  her  companions  to  the  central  hall,  where,  with  all  man- 
ner of  busts  and  figures  looking  strangely  down  on  them,  the 
crowd  stood  in  a  circle  round  the  Artillery  band,  the  boys  in 


AMONG  SOME  PICTURES.  141 

the  centre.  By  this  time  Violet  and  her  companion  had  got 
separated  from  Mr.  Drummond  and  Lady  North ;  Mr.  George 
Miller  was  paying  compulsory  attention  to  his  friend  Anato- 
lia. 

But  this  division  of  the  party  did  not  last,  of  course,  the 
whole  evening.  Its  various  members  met  and  parted  in  new 
combinations,  as  various  objects  of  attraction  suggested ; 
this  one  lost  in  admiration  of  the  music  ;  the  other  fascinated 
by  particular  costums ;  a  third  anxious  that  every  body 
should  see  his  or  her  favorite  picture.  On  one  of  these 
occasions  Mr.  Drummond  and  Violet  together  happened  to 
be  looking  at  a  picture  based  on  the  tragic  death  of  Helen 
of  Kirkconnell. 

It  is  now  two  or  three  years  since  this  picture  was  exhib- 
ited, and  I  must  not  hazard  overpraise  of  its  merits  ;  but,  at 
all  events,  it  endeavored  to  give  visible  form  to  what  (as  it 
seems  to  some  of  us)  is  the  most  passionate  and  pathetic 
utterance  of  human  emotion  in  all  modern  literature — if  this 
wild,  sharp  cry  of  anguish  is  to  be  called  literature.  More- 
over, it  dealt  only  with  one  episode  in  the  brief  tragedy, 
where  Helen  of  Kirkconnell — Burd  Helen  she  is  called  in 
some  of  the  versions — is  walking  with  her  lover  in  the 
evening,  and  suddenly  throws  herself  before  him  to  receive 
the  death-shot  fired  at  him  by  his  rejected  rival  :  it  does  not 
deal  with  the  fiercer  portion  that  follows. 

"  Oh  think  na  but  my  heart  was  sair  " 

— this  is  the  pathetic  introduction  to  the  wild,  glad  deed  of 
vengeance — 

"  When  my  love  fell  and  spake  nae  mair ; 
I  laid  her  down  wi'  meikle  care, 
On  fair  Kirconnell  lea. 

"  I  laid  her  down  :  my  sword  did  draw, 
Stern  was  our  fight  by  Kirtlcshaw : 
/  hewed  him  dozoii  in  pieces  sma', 
For  her  that  died  for  me." 

"  It  is  a  sad  story,"  Drummond  said,  absently,  when  he  had 
told  it  to  her. 

"  I  do  not  think  that,"  she  answered,  quickly ;  and  he  was 
surprised  to  see  that  her  face  was  quite  pale,  and  her  dark 
eyes  full  of  tears.  "  I  think  these  are  the  two  very  happiest 
people  I  ever  heard  of  in  the  world." 

She  stopped  for  a  moment :  he  dared  not  look,  for  he 
guessed  that  the  proud  lips  were  trembling. 


142  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Don't  you?"  she  said,  boldly.  "A  woman  who  is  able 
to  die  for  the  man  she  loves,  a  man  who  has  the  delight  of 
killing  the  man  who  slew  his  sweetheart :  I  think  they  have 
had  every  thing  that  life  can  give.  But — but  that  was  in  the 
old  time  ;  there  is  no  more  of  that  now ;  when  people  care 
for  each  other  now,  it  is  a  very  gentle  affection,  and  they  are 
more  concerned  about  having  a  good  income,  and  being  able 
to  drive  in  the  Park — " 

"  But  people  who  drive  in  the  Park  may  love  each  other," 
he  said. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  she  said,  and  then  she  abruptly 
turned  away. 

Mr.  George  Miller  came  up. 

"Violet,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle  and  tender  voice,  "  do  come 
over  here  and  look  at  this  picture.  I  think  it  is  awfully 
good." 

She  crossed  the  room  proudly  and  silently.  Mr.  Miller 
led  her  to  a  very  nice  and  pleasing  composition,  which  had 
rather  won  upon  his  heart,  and  which — who  knows  ? — he  may 
have  thought  would  have  a  similar  influence  on  her.  It  rep- 
resented a  quiet  nook  on  the  Thames,  with  a  long  pleasure- 
boat  moored  in  at  the  roots  of  the  trees,  and  in  the  boat  were 
two  very  pretty  young  ladies  and  a  good-looking  young  fellow 
— he  was  not  unlike  Miller  himself — in  boating-flannels  and  a 
straw  hat.  The  picture  was  called  "Meditation."  There 
was  a  luncheon-basket,  half  opened,  in  the  stern  of  the  boat. 

"  Now,  that  is  what  I  call  real  life,"  said  Mr.  Miller. 
"That  is  the  sort  of  thing  you  actually  see  Just  look  at 
that  swan  ;  you  would  think  he  was  going  to  open  his  mouth 
for  a  biscuit." 

"  That  is  the  sort  of  picture  I  hate,"  she  said,  with  unnec- 
essary vehemence  ;  and  he  was  considerably  startled  ;  "  and 
I  hate  the  people  quite  as  much  who  could  live  such  a  trivial, 
dawdling,  purposeless  sort  of  life.  I  wonder  what  they  are 
medifati7ig  on  !  Very  pretty  meditations  they  are  likely  to  have  ! 
On  the  advisability  of  eating  lobster-salad  ?  On  the  sweet 
poetry  the  curate  quoted  on  Sunday.?  On  the  chances  of 
their  winning  gloves  at  Goodwood  ?  And  as  for  him,  a  tail- 
or's window  would  be  the  most  suitable  place  in  the  world 
for  him." 

He  was  astounded  by  this  outburst ;  he  could  not  under- 
stand what  it  meant. 

"  You  are  rather  savage  to-night,"  said  he,  coldly.  "  I 
don't  see  that  the  man  has  done  you  any  harm  by  painting  a 
pretty  picture." 


AA/OA'G  SOME  PICTURES.  143 

"  I  detest  such  pictures." 

"Well,  you  needn't  look  at  them,  if  they  offend  you." 

"  I  must  look  at  them  when  I  am  asked  to  do  so,  and  when 
I  am  told  that  they  are  beautiful." 

This  was  rather  a  cruel  remark ;  but  Mr  Miller  unexpect- 
edly show^ed  good-nature. 

"Well,  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  said  he,  pleas- 
antly. "  I  like  pictures  like  that,  because  I  understand  them. 
They  are  the  sort  of  thing  that  one  sees  in  real  life.  Now,  I 
have  no  doubt  that  the  solemn  and  mysterious  business — an 
ugly  woman  with  her  face  painted  against  a  green  sky — is 
very  fine  ;  but  I  can't  see  the  beauty  of  ugliness  myself."- 

"  Where  is  Lady  North,  do  you  know .''  "  she  said. 

"  I  saw  her  go  into  the  next  room  a  minute  ago,"  he  an- 
swered. 

Now,  if  Violet  had  been  put  out  of  temper  by  being  asked 
to  look  at  a  very  harmless  and  innocent  picture,  she  was  re- 
stored, not  only  to  her  usual  serenity,  but  to  a  quite  abundant 
graciousness,  by  the  news  she  heard  when  she  again  encoun- 
tered her  stepmother. 

"  Violet,"  said  the  little  woman,  "  Mr.  Drummond  has  been 
pressing  me  very  hard  to  let  you  go  with  his  sister  and  him- 
self to  Scotland.     Would  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  go." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  any  objection,"  Lady  North  said,  "  ex- 
cept that  it  is  rather  presuming  on  their  hospitality — " 

"  Ah,  they  don't  think  of  such  things,"  said  Violet,  quickly. 

"  They  are  not  very  rich,  you  know." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  the  girl  said,  rather  proudly.  "  It  is  be- 
cause they  are  not  rich  that  they  are  generous  and  kind  to 
every  one  ;  they  have  not  a  thought  about  money — " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Lady  North,  "  they  seem,  in  any  case, 
to  be  very  kindly  disposed  toward  you;  and  you  must  go  and 
thank  them  now  for  the  invitation.  There  is  Mr.  Drummond 
over  in  the  corner." 

"  I — would — rather  go  to  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  Violet, 
with  some  hesitation.  "Where  has  she  gone  with  Ana- 
tolia?" 

Lady  North  was  in  all  simplicity  surprised  to  see  the  effect 
of  this  concession  of  hers  on  Violet's  friends.  Was  it  really 
possible  that  they  could  so  much  enjoy  her  society?  They 
seemed  to  be  quite  grateful  to  her  for  allowing  Violet  to  go 
with  them  ;  whereas  she  herself  had  been  looking  forward  with 
very  considerable  anxiety  to  the  necessity  of  taking  that  young 
lady  to  Italy.     It  was  well,  she  thought,  m  any  case,  that  the 


144  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

girl  had  taken  this  fancy  for  people  who  did  appear  to  have 
some  control  over  her. 

Naturally  enough,  when  all  the  splendor  of  the  evening  was 
over,  and  the  brilliancy  of  the  rooms  exchanged  for  the  rainy 
squalor  of  the  streets,  Mr  Drummond  and  his  sister,  who  went 
home  in  a  cab,  had  much  to  say  about  this  visit  to  the  North, 
and  Violet's  going  with  them.  After  they  got  home,  too,  they 
kept  chatting  on  about  this  subject ;  the  time  running  away  un- 
heeded. James  Drummond  seemed  highly  pleased  about  the 
whole  arrangement ;  and  he  was  already  painting  all  sorts  of 
imaginative  pictures  of  Violet's  experiences  of  Highland  lochs, 
moors,  sunsets,  and  wild  seas. 

"  And  then,"  said  his  sister,  "  we  must  ask  Mr.  Miller  up  for 
a  time." 

"  Oh  certainly." 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "I  must  get  over  my  objec- 
tion to  that  young  man  marrying  Violet." 

He  raised  his  eyes  quickly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  good-natured  shrug,  "  I  be- 
lieve it  is  inevitable  now.  Either  they  are  engaged,  or  about 
to  be  engaged." 

A  quick  look  of  pain — so  sharp  and  rapid  that  she  did  not 
notice  it — passed  over  his  face. 

"  Has  she  told  yoti  so  ?  "  he  said,  calmly. 

"  No  ;  but  she  came  to  ask  my  advice  about  it  the  other  day; 
and  she  talked  just  as  a  girl  always  talks  in  these  circum- 
stances— pretending  to  care  nothing  for  him — treating  his  ad- 
vances as  tiresome — and  yet  showing  you  quite  clearly  that  she 
would  be  very  much  disgusted  if  he  took  her  at  her  word." 

"  And  w^hat  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  told  her  to  be  governed  by  her  own  feelings." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  absently;  and  he  seemed  to  be 
deeply  occupied  in  balancing  a  paper-knife  on  its  edge.  "  I 
am  glad  her  people  know  of  Miller's  expectations ;  that  relieves 
us  from  responsibility.  It  wall  be  a  pretty  spectacle — these 
two  young  folks  in  the  holiday-time  of  their  youth  enjoying 
themselves  up  there  in  the  Highlands." 

"I  wish  she  had  chosen  somebody  else,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said, 
ruefully.  "  I  suppose  he  is  a  good  match  ;  and  he  is  very  fond 
of  her  ;  but  he  is  so  dreadfully  like  every  other  young  man." 

"  You  must  wait  and  see,  Sarah,"  her  brother  said,  gently. 
"  Give  him  time." 

"  I  would  give  him  every  thing  else  in  the  world — except  our 
Violet,"  she  said.     "However,  if  young  people  were  quite 


AMONG  SOME  PICTURES.  145 

serrsible,  they  would  always  be  finding  out  defects  in  each 
other,  and  they  would  never  get  married  at  all.  He  is  a  very 
well-intentioned  young  man  :  I  think  if  you  advised  him  to 
become  a  Buddhist,  he  would  try.  We  shall  see  what  influence 
Violet  will  have  on  him ;  perhaps  she  will  conjure  up  some- 
thing in  him  a  little  more  out  of  the  commonplace." 

She  bid  him  good-night  now — though  it  was  very  near  morn- 
ing— and  left  him  alone.  He  sat  there,  lying  back  in  his  easy- 
chair,  with  his  ordinarily  quick  and  piercing  eyes  grown  vague 
and  distant,  as  if  they  were  trying  to  make  some  mystic  words 
out  of  the  meaningless  symbols  on  the  wall-paper.  The  clock 
on  the  mantel-piece  ticked  gently,  the  slow  progress  of  the 
hands  being  unheeded. 

He  rose,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  been  in  a  dream, 
and  looked  round.  His  attention  was  caught  by  bars  of  blue 
appearing  through  the  yellow  shutters  of  the  window ;.  the  new 
day  was  drawing  near  outside  ;  almost  mechanically  he  passed 
round  into  the  hall,  took  his  hat,  and  let  himself  quietly  out. 

How  still  it  was  in  the  half-revealed  darkness !  Only  the  top- 
most leaves  of  the  tall  poplars,  far  away  up  there  in  the  blue 
gray,  seemed  to  be  having  a  low  and  rustling  talk  together ; 
down  here,  amidst  the  darker  foliage  of  the  chestnuts,  all 
was  silence. 

He  walked  on,  quietly  and  aimlessly,  past  the  voiceless 
houses  and  the  gardens.  Suddenly  a  sound  made  his  heart 
leap  :  it  was  only  a  thrush  that  had  burst  asunder  the  spell  of 
the  night  with  the  first  notes  of  its  morning  song.  And  now 
there  was  a  more  perceptible  light  in  the  sky ;  and  the  stars 
were  gone  ;  and  at  last  there  appeared  a  strange  violet  color, 
tinted  with  rose,  that  shone  on  the  windows  of  the  eastward- 
looking  houses.  The  dawn  had  come — after  the  rain  of  the 
night — clear,  and  coldly  roseate,  and  still. 

"So  the  new  days  come,"  he  was  thinking  to  himself,  "and 
the  years  slip  by,  and  God  takes  away  our  youth  before  we 
know  that  we  have  it.  And  if  all  the  imaginative  longing  of 
youth — that  seeks  satisfaction  in  the  melancholy  of  the  twir 
light  and  in  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  and  does  not  find  it  there, 
but  must  have  some  human  object  of  sympathy — if  that  ro- 
mantic wistfulness  of  youth  clings  around  the  form  of  a  young 
girl,  and  endows  her  with  all  the  poetry  of  early  years,  can  it 
ever  be  repeated  again  ?  Love  may  come  again,  and  love  of 
a  stronger,  and  purer,  and  less  selfish  kind  ;  but  the  wonder 
— perhaps  not !  and  so  I  imagine  that  the  old  mystery  of  first 
love  never  quite  goes  even  when  the  love  goes,  and  that  in 
after-years  some  sudden  view  of  the  sea  or  a  new  sweet  scent 


146  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

in  the  air  will  bring  back  a  throb  of  one's  twentieth  year  and 
all  the  half-forgotten  dreams.  But  if  a  man  knows  all  that, 
and  has  missed  it,  can  he  have  even  a  glimpse  of  it  in  later 
life  ?  There  are  some  of  us  who  have  had  no  youth — only 
hours,  and  days,  and  years  ;  the  wonder-time  of  love  has 
never  reached  us  ;  and  we  have  learned  physiology  instead. 
I  suppose  all  that  must  go.  We  can  see  the  pretty  pictures 
that  young  love  makes ;  we  can  smile  sadly  at  its  unreasona- 
ble caprice,  its  wild  follies,  its  anger,  and  tears  of  repentance. 
Happy  youth,  that  knows  not  its  own  happiness — that  would 
impatiently  curtail  the  wonder-time — that  is  so  eager  after  en- 
joyment that  rose-leaves  are  dashed  down  of  roses  that  will 
never  bloom  again.  But,  after  all,  to  live  is  to  live  ;  and  it 
is  only  those  who  are  outside  and  apart,  who  are  but  specta- 
tors of  the  youth  of  others,  who  know  how  youth  should  be 
spent,  and  how  grateful  it  should  be  for  God's  chiefest  gifts." 
He  was  neither  sorrowful  nor  envious,  to  all  appearance, 
as  he  walked  on  and  communed  with  himself,  listening  to  the 
full  chorus  of  the  now  awakened  birds,  and  watching  the 
growing  glory  of  the  sunlight  come  over  the  green  and  rain- 
washed  foliage  of  the  trees.  The  tall,  thin  man,  who  stooped 
a  little,  and  who  walked  briskly  along,  with  one  hand  in  his 
trousers-pocket,  sometimes  whistled  absently  as  he  went ; 
and  he  had  a  quick  attention  for  the  flying  birds,  and  the 
growing  light,  and  the  stirring  of  the  leaves.  He  was  all  by 
himself  in  the  newly  awakened  world  ;  not  another  human  be- 
ing was  abroad.  And  when  he  had  tired  himself  out  with  his 
walk,  he  returned  home  with  something  of  gladness  in  his 
worn  face  ;  for  it  almost  seemed  as  if  he  had  got  rid  of  cer- 
tain mournful  fancies,  and  had  resigned  himself  to  the  actual 
and  sufficiently  happy  life  of  the  new  day — the  new  day  that 
was  now  shining  over  the  plains  where  the  cattle  stood,  and 
over  the  orchards  and  farm-steads,  and  over  the  glad  blue 
seas  all  breaking  in  white  foam  around  our  English  shores. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

FROM    NORTH    TO    SOUTH. 


The  pronunciation  of  the  word  allegro  is  not  a  matter  of 
very  grave  moment.  A  man  may  make  a  mistake  about  it 
and  nevertheless  be  a  good  Christian  and  a  loyal  subject. 
All  the  same,  it  was  this  trifling  affair  of   a  wrong   accent 


FROM  NORTH  TO  SOUTH.  147 

that  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  changed  the  whole  course  of 
Miss  Violet  North's  life. 

The  girl  had  an  impatience  of  pretense  of  all  kinds  which 
she  carried  to  an  extreme.  While  she  was  at  Miss  Main's 
school  not  one  of  the  girls  dared  to  wear  a  bit  of  sham  jew- 
elry. -Now,  Lady  North  was  not  a  highly  accomplished 
w^oman,  and,  like  most  persons  of  imperfect  education,  she 
had  the  habit  of  adorning  her  talk  with  scraps  of  languages 
with  which  she  was  but  scantily  acquainted.  The  resent- 
ment of  Violet  North  against  this  species  of  affectation  was 
implacable.  It  was  no  use  telling  her  that  human  nature 
liad  developed  more  deadly  crimes  than  that.  It  was  no  use 
urging  that  the  difference  between  allegro  and  allegro  was 
not  a  matter  to  keep  one  awake  o'  nights. 

"  Why  should  she  use  the  word  at  all  1  Why  should  she 
pretend  to  know  a  language  that  she  doesn't  know  1  I  hate 
the  meanness  of  that  perpetual  shamming  !  " 

And  of  course  Lady  North,  again  like  most  imperfectly 
educated  persons,  was  deeply  incensed  when  she  was  correct- 
ed ;  and  out  of  this  small  matter — a  long  ^  or  a  short  e — 
sprung  up  a  quarrel  which  pointed  to  but  one  conclusion. 
The  hollow  truce  was  broken.  Stei>mother  and  step-daugh- 
ter could  not  remain  in  the  same  house.  Neither  wished  it, 
so  it  remained  for  Sir  Acton  North  to  say  what  was  to  be 
done. 

Sir  Acton  was,  as  usual,  quite  submissive.  He  could  not 
understand  why  two  women  should  quarrel  over  an  Italian 
word  ;  but,  then,  he  had  long  ago  given  up  the  hope  of  under- 
standing any  thing  about  women.  He  asked  his  wife  what 
she  wanted  him  to  do  about  Violet ;  Lady  North  refused  to 
intermeddle  in  that  young  lady's  affairs  in  any  way  whatso- 
ever. He  went  to  Violet  herself,  who  told  him  that  she  did 
not  care  what  happened  to  her  so  long  as  she  got  out  of  the 
house.  She  also  hinted  that  she  was  quite  able  to  earn  her 
own  living,  at  which  Sir  Acton  laughed,  and  went  away  not 
much  enlightened. 

In  this  extremity  he  bethought  himself  of  that  small  house- 
hold on  the  south  of  the  river,  in  which  Violet  had  often  taken 
refuge,  as  if  it  were  her  natural  home ;  and  it  occurred  to  him 
that  as  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  brother  had  been  good  enough 
to  offer  to  take  Violet  with  them  for  their  autumn  holidays, 
they  might  perhaps  be  inclined  to  extend  their  hospitality 
farther,  provided  that  some  proper  recompense  were  made 
them.  Violet,  he  knew,  would  be  amply  satisfied  with  that 
and  it  v/as  an  arrangement,  moreover,  which 


I4S  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

could  only  be  but  temporary,  for,  of  course,  the  girl  was  sure 
to  marry. 

Sir  Acton  found  Mr.  Drummond  busily  engaged  in  greasing 
a  pair  of  enormously  thick  shooting-boots,  while  a  pair  of  very 
old  leather  leggings  lay  beside  him  on  the  table  of  the  small 
dining-room. 

"  1  can't  shake  hands  with  you,  sir,"  said  he,  laying  down 
his  wooden  pipe.  "  You  see,  we  are  just  preparing  for  our 
plunge  into  an  absolutely  savage  life ;  and  you  never  can 
trust  any  body  to  grease  your  boots  but  yourself.  I  hope 
Miss  Violet  quite  understands  the  sort  of  life  she  will  lead 
when  she  comes  with  us  !  " 

"  It  was  about  her  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond," said  Miss  Violet's  father  ;  and  then  he  sat  down  and 
told  Mr.  Drummond  the  whole  story,  as  well  as  he  could 
make  it  out. 

This  was  a  delicate  mission  on  which  Sir  Acton  had  come, 
and  several  times  he  seemed  rather  embarrassed,  but  the 
quick,  direct  speech  of  Mr.  Drummond  helped  him  out. 

"  Do  I  understand  you,  then,  that  Violet  is  without  a  home  }  " 

"  She  has  none  in  prospect — that  is  to  say,  of  course  we 
could  arrange  about  her  staying  with  some  one — " 

"  She  can  always  have  a  home  here,  and  a  hearty  welcome. 
My  sister  will  assure  her  of  that." 

"  I  expected  you  would  say  as  much  ;  the  girl  is  indeed  for- 
tunate in  having  such  friends,"  said  Sir  Acton,  who  was  really 
touched  with  the  frank,  unhesitating  way  in  which  the  offer 
was  made  ;  "  and  I  will  confess  that  I  had  some  notion  of  this 
when  I  came  over  to  see  you.  Still,  it  is  an  awkward  thing 
for  one  man  to  ask  another  man  to  take  his  daughter  off  his 
hands—" 

"  Don't  speak  about  that.  If  Violet  will  come  and  live  with 
us,  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  her.  Of  course,  she  knows  what 
she  must  expect.  We  are  very  plain-living  folk,  and  we  are 
not  rich  enough  to  alter  our  ways  in  entertaining  a  guest, 
although  we  should  like  to  do  that." 

"  I  don't  think  she  has  found  your  ways  unsuited  to  her," 
her  father  said,  with  a  smile,  "  to  judge  by  the  readiness  with 
which  she  always  comes  here.  No,  she  has  more  sense  than 
that ;  there  is  nothing  of  the  petted  child  about  her.  But,  en 
the  other  hand,  Mr.  Drummond,"  continued  Violet's  father, 
with  obvious  embarrassment,  "  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  suggest 
that — that  the  obligation  ycu  put  me  under  would  be  too 
great  if  you  did  not  allow  me  to  make  you — some  recompense  ; 
a  sum  might  be  stated — " 


FROM  NORTH  TO  SOUTH.  149 

He  was  in  great  dread  of  offending  this  shy,  capricious, 
strange  man,  and  he  was  greatly  relieved  to  find  Mr.  Drum- 
mond,  instead  of  drawing  himself  up  and  looking  hurt,  break- 
ing out  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  No,  no.  Sir  Acton,  we  don't  take  in  boarders  ;  and  to  think 
of  our  being  paid  for  having  Violet  North  come  to  live  with 
us  !  But  I  must  tell  Sarah  about  it :  excuse  me  for  one  second, 
Sir  Acton." 

Off  he  went,  leaving  the  worthy  and  practical-minded  baro- 
net very  much  puzzled.  It  was  true,  he  knew,  that  Mr.  Drum- 
mond  was  a  gentleman  ;  but  was  he  not  also  very  poor  ?  and 
had  not  the  offer  been  made  with  great  delicacy  ?  and  surely 
it  was  most  unreasonable  that  this  family  should  bear  the  ex- 
pense of  supporting  a  rich  man's  daughter.  His  sister  re- 
turned with  him.  They  were  both  of  them  apparently  greatly 
delighted  over  this  probable  addition  to  their  household. 
When  would  she  come  over  ?  Would  he  remember  to  remind 
her  of  her  music  ?  Ought  Mrs.  Warrener  to  come  and  help 
her  to  move  her  small  belongings  ?  And  would  he  make  her 
promise  before  she  left  not  to  do  all  Amy  Warrener's  lessons 
for  her,  seeing  that  that  young  lady  had  now  got  out  of  her 
child-period  ? 

Sir  Acton  North  began  to  wonder  less  over  his  daughter's 
liking  for  this  quiet  little  house  and  its  occupants.  There 
was  a  wonderful  sense  of  homeliness  about  the  place,  and  a 
bright,  humorous  frankness  about  this  tall  lounging  man  and 
his  gentle  sister.  But,  before  Sir  Acton  left,  Mr.  Drummond 
took  him  aside,  and  said  to  him,  with  more  seriousness, 

"  There  is  one  point,  sir,  about  which  we  ought  to  have  a 
clear  understanding  before  your  daughter  comes  over  to  live 
with  us.  I  believe  that  that  young  fellow  Miller  is,  in  a 
fashion,  paying  his  addresses  to  her.  That  is  with  your 
sanction,  I  presume  ?  " 

•  "  Why,  yes,"  said  Sir  Acton,  rather  staggered  by  the  di- 
rectness of  the  question,  and  also  by  the  calm,  observant 
look  of  those  singularly  bright  and  intelligent  eyes.  "  The 
young  man  saw  me — that  nonsense  was  all  explained  away — 
and  indeed  it  was  a  thoughtless  frolic  that  may  be  forgotten 
now.  If  the  girl  likes  him,  I  see  no  reason  why  they  should 
not  marry.     Do  you  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  repeated  Drummond,  almost  v/ith  a  start.  "  What 
have  I  to  do  with  it  ?  It  is  her  father  who  must  give  his 
consent." 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  against  the  young  man  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,"  was  the  hearty  answer. 


150  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Well,  then,  he  is  a  fairly  shrewd,  practical-headed  young 
fellow  ;  he  will  have  quite  enough  money ;  his  family  is  re- 
spectable— I  really  don't  see  any  objection." 

"  That  is  very  well.  Sir  Acton.  I  merely  wished  to  be  en- 
tirely clear  from  all  responsibility — " 

"  Mind  you,  my  dear  sir,"  broke  in  Sir  Acton,  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  remembered  something,  "  don't  imagine  that  I  am 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  my  daughter — by  marriage  or  otherwise 
• — merely  because  she  and  her  step-mother  don't  agree.  No, 
no;  rather  than  see  her  uncomfortable,  I'd — I'd — confound 
it !  I'd  send  the  whole  pack  of  'em  flying.  Violet's  a  good 
girl — she's  worth  twenty  dozen — " 

But  here  Sir  Acton  thought  he  had  said  enough. 

"  I  understand  you,  then,  sir,'^  said  Mr.  Drummond,  quite 
calmly,  "  that  you  have  no  objection  to  Mr.  Miller  meeting 
your  daughter  while  she  is  under  my  care  ;  and  if  they  should 
engage  to  marry  each  other,  good  and  well  .-*  " 

"  I  see  no  objection.  But  why  do  you  speak  of  that  as  if 
it  were  something  to  be  feared  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me  ;  I  am  sure  I  had  no  such  intention." 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  Sir  Acton,  at  the  door  ; 
*'  you  have  done  me  a  great  kindness  ;  I  will  try  to  repay  you 
some  day.  Oh,  by-the-way,  I  suppose  I  may  get  a  saloon- 
carriage  reserved  for  you  when  you  go  North  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  quietly.  "  We  al- 
vv^ays  go  second-class,  and  I  don't  think  Miss  Violet  will  ex- 
pect us  to  alter  our  ordinary  habits." 

Next  day  a  young  lady  burst  into  the  room,  where  Mrs. 
Warrener  was  sitting  sewing,  and  threw  herself  down  on  her 
knees,  and  put  her  hands  in  her  friend's  lap. 

"  And  oh  !  is  it  quite  true  t  And  am  I  to  live  with  you  al- 
ways t  "  she  cried ;  and  the  fine,  frank,  handsome  face  and 
the  dark  and  eloquent  eyes  were  full  of  joy  and  gratitude. 

"  You  are  to  stay  with  us  at  long  as  you  please,"  said  Mrs. 
Warrener,  much  more  gravely,  as  she  kissed  the  girl. 

Violet  looked  up  quickly,  and  scanned  her  friend's  face. 

"  Are  you  displeased  with  me  ?  " 

There  was  a  gentle  hand  laid  on  her  head. 

"  Violet,  you  are  no  longer  a  girl.  You  ought  not  to  give 
way  to  your  temper,  under  whatever  provocation.  And  it 
does  not  look  well  to  see  any  girl  so  glad  to  leave  her 
home." 

"  I  have  not  left  my  home,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice, 
with  her  head  bent  down ;  "  I  have  come  to  the  only  home 
that  I  ever  have  had." 


FROM  NOR  TH  TO  SO  UTIL  1 5  r 

No  woman  could  resist  that  speech ;  there  was  an  arm 
round  her  neck  in  a  moment,  and  she  was  listening  to  many 
a  protestation  that  that  home,  at  least,  should  never  be  want- 
ing to  her  as  long  as  she  lived. 

But  the  girl  freed  herself,  and  looked  up  again. 

"  And  Mr.  Drummond,"  she  said,  "  what  does  he  think  ? 
Does  he  think  I  have  done  wrong  t " 

"  Well,  he  regrets  what  has  happened,  of  course,  although 
it  has  brought  you  to  us.  He  thought  you  had  resolved  to 
be  a  little  more  patient,  and  gentle,  and  obedient — " 

The  girl  rose  quickly,  turning  her  head  aside  ;  but  all  the 
same  her  friend  had  caught  sight  of  the  sudden  tears  that 
had  sprung  to  those  long  black  lashes. 

''  Violet ! " 

"  I  can  go  back." 

"  You  shall  not  go  back,  Violet.     Listen  to  reason — " 

"Oh  !  you  don't  know — you  don't  know  the  life  I  had  to 
lead  in  that  house,"  the  girl  cried,  passionately,  with  the  tears 
running  down  her  face  ;  "  and  you  think  that  I  am  proud  and 
ungrateful :  and  perhaps  you  are  afraid  to  take  me  t  But  I 
am  not  ungrateful  to  those  I  can  love  and  respect — no — you 
will  not  find  me  that ;  and  there  is  nothing  I  would  not  suffer 
for  my  real  friends,  as  you  may  find  out  some  day.  But  I 
have  had  no  friends — you  know  I  have  had  no  friends — but 
the  friends  in  this  house  ;  and  what  would  I  not  do  for  them  ? 
Only  to  be  in  the  house  with  you,  I  would  be  a  kitchen  drudge 
for  you — indeed,  I  would ;  I  would  work  my  eyes  blind  for 
you ;  there  is  no  patience  and  obedience  you  would  not  have. 
But  I  must  respect  and  love  the  people  whom  I  serve,  and 
then  I  am  ready  to  become  their  slave  from  morning  till 
night — " 

Mrs.  Warrener  strove  to  hush  the  wild,  piteous  words. 

*'  You  must  not  take  so  much  to  heart  what  I  said,  Violet," 
she  remonstrated,  gently.  "  And  you  won't  have  to  do  all 
these  things  in  order  to  please  your  friends.  Only  be  true  to 
your  own  better  nature,  and  you  will  be  a  constant  delight  to 
them." 

The  girl  took  up  her  friend's  hand  and  kissed  it :  then  she 
left  the  room.  Mrs.  Warrener  understood  the  mute  promise 
of  obedience. 


153  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CASTLE   BANDBOX,    N.    B. 

The  great  white  mists  of  the  rain  had  lifted ;  and  all  the 
world  behind  stood  revealed — a  strange,  new,  dream-like 
world,  colorless,  still,  its  various  tints  of  gray  shining  with  a 
suffused  and  mystic  light.  The  gray  sea  was  like  glass  ;  the 
gray  islands  had  but  a  faint  glimmer  of  green  along  their 
shores ;  the  gray  mountains  were  pale  and  distant ;  and,  in 
all  this  vague  and  phantom-like  picture  that  had  been  so  sud- 
denly disclosed,  there  was  but  one  sharp  and  definite  object 
— a  coasting-vessel  lying  motionless  out  there  on  the  shining 
gray  sea,  its  hull  as  black  as  jet ;  its  brown  sails  throwing 
perfect  shadows  on  the  mirror  beneath.  It  was  as  yet  early 
morning;  no  one  could  say  whether  that  luminous  glovv 
throughout  the  gray  would  turn  to  clear  sunlight,  or  whether 
the  slow,  soft  fingers  of  the  rain-clouds  would  again  pass  over 
the  world-picture,  obliterating  successively  island  and  moun- 
tain and  sea. 

Early  as  it  was,  a  young  lady  had  managed  to  write  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  which  she  was  just  putting  into  an  envelope  : 

"  Castle  Bandbox,  in  the  Wertern  Highlands,  12th  August. 
"  My  dear  Papa, — You  have  known  for  many  a  year  that 
I  am  the  most  dutiful  of  daughters  ;  so  here  is  the  account  I 
promised  you  of  our  explorations  in  this  wild  country.  It  was 
on  the  evening  of  the  loth  of  August,  in  the  present  year,  that 
we  effected  our  disembarkation,  and  were  most  hospitably  re- 
ceived by  the  inhabitants  of  this  coast,  two  of  whom  willingly 
agreed  (after  much  talk  among  themselves  in  a  language  we 
did  not  understand)  to  carry  our  luggage  and  accoutrements 
for  us  (on  wheel-barrows).  Throwing  out  a  scout  or  two,  in 
the  shape  of  bareheaded  children,  with  very  brown  faces,  bare 
legs  and  feet,  and  tattered  kilts,  we  struck  a  trail  which  event- 
ually led  us  away  from  the  coast  into  the  mountains.  By-and 
by  we  ascended,  until  behind  us  we  could  behold  the  open 
waters  of  the  Atlantic,  with  various  long  and  beautiful  islands, 
and  the  lofty  mountains  of  Morven  and  Mull ;  while  in  our 
front,  crowning  a  small  knoll  that  stands  in  the  midst  of  an 
amphitheatre  of  heather-clad  hills,  we  beheld  a  small,  peaked, 
white  building,  which  we  made  bold  to  call  Castle  Bandbox. 
By  whom,  or  when,  this  solitary  habitation,  in  the  midst  of 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  153 

the  moors,  was  built,  I  do  not  know.  We  have  already  dis- 
covered it  to  be  the  most  delightful  of  toy-houses,  once  you 
have  got  accustomed  to  knocking  your  head  against  the  slop- 
ing roof  of  your  bedroom. 

"  Scarcely  had  we  arrived  when  the  youngest  member  of 
the  party  and  the  writer  of  this  narrative,  leaving  to  our  eld- 
ers the  business  of  unpacking,  started  off  on  an  exploration 
of  the  adjoining  mountains,  the  nearest  of  which  is  separated 
from  the  garden  by  a  wire  fence  to  keep  out  rabbits.  The 
garden,  I  should  have  said,  goes  all  round  the  side  of  the 
knoll :  the  borders  of  the  various  plots  are  adorned  with  tree- 
fuchsias,  rose-bushes,  sweet-williams,  and  marigolds ;  but  the 
plots  themselves  contain  such  more  useful  plants  as  carrots 
turnips,  beans,  and  potatoes — the  last  in  flower.  The  first 
mountain  on  the  other  side  of  the  wire  fence  we  named  Mount 
Glorioso.  Its  chief  peculiarity  is  its  tangle  of  furze,  brambles, 
meadow-sweet,  and  ferns  round  its  lower  slopes  ;  then  you 
come  to  a  forest  of  young  larches,  trees  which  tear  your  hair 
to  pieces,  and  leave  tufts  of  sticky  white  all  over  your  clothes. 
Passing  across  the  summit  of  this  mountain,  the  adventurers 
reached  another  peak,  which  they  named  Mount  Magnificoso  : 
the  chief  peculiarity  of  this  eminence  is  its  immensely  high 
heather — beautiful  to  look  at,  but  desperately  difficult  to  walk 
through.  The  third  and  last  of  this  chain  of  mountains  we 
ventured  to  call  Mount  Extremitoso,  the  chief  peculiarity  of 
which  is  an  abundance  of  steep  gray  rocks,  up  which  you 
must  scramble  to  find  yourself  on  a  high  and  windy  summit 
of  close  and  slippery  grass.     We  got  no  farther  than  that. 

"  But  oh,  papa,  if  you  could  see  what  we  saw  then — what 
we  can  see  now  from  the  windows  of  this  place — the  long 
stretches  of  sea,  and  the  distant  mountains  that  appear  to 
rise  right  out  of  the  water,  and  that  change  in  color  every 
minute  of  the  day !  I  remember,  just  as  we  v/ere  getting  to 
the  station,  Mr.  Drummond  saying  to  me,  '  You  will  find  a 
difference  between  Euston  Square  and  Morven  ; '  but  I  had 
no  idea  of  what  a  difference.  Not  that  he  ever  speaks  disre- 
spectfully of  Euston  Square ;  on  the  contrary,  he  says  one 
ought  to  grow  very  wise  living  there — looking  on  at  the  muta- 
bility of  life — the  coming  and  going  of  cabs  and  carriages, 
some  people  with  dogs  and  guns,  and  others  with  coffins. 
And  did  you  ever  notice  simple  country-people  asking  the 
way  to  Holborn  or  London  Bridge,  and  then  setting  out  to 
walk  there  with  all  their  luggage,  just  as  if  they  were  going 
round  a  corner  in  a  village  1  Mr.  Drummond  says  he  has 
seen  them ;   but  he  is  a  very  imaginative  man.     Oh,  by-the- 


154  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

way,  did  you  ever  notice,  papa,  the  architecture  of  St.  Pau- 
cras  Church — the  steeple  and  the  stone  woman,  especially  ? 
I  have  found  out  that  is  the  only  way  of  enraging  him — to 
talk  about  St.  Pancras  Church,  and  say  you  rather  like  it. 

''  We  have  the  most  delightful  evenings — so  cheerful  and 
homely ;  and  although  Mr.  Drummond  professes  to  have  be- 
come a  thorough  savage,  and  to  have  forsworn  all  book  and 
writing,  and  to  be  interested  only  in  cartridges  and  setters, 
and  so  forth,  in  the  evening  he  talks  about  every  thing  you 
can  think  of,  and  it  is  worth  a  thousand  lectures  to  hear  him, 
besides  being  much  more  amusing  than  a  lecture.  I  never 
knew  a  man  so  bright-spirited  ;  it  is  quite  delightful  to  hear 
him  laugh ;  and  you  would  scarcely  think  there  was  so  much 
wisdom  in  what  he  says,  if  you  were  not  accustomed  to  his 
joking  way.  He  is  a  great  favorite  here ;  already  various 
gentlemen  in  the  neighborhood  (in  the  neighbornood  means 
twenty  miles  of  mountains)  have  offered  him  shooting;  and 
one,  who  is  going  to  China,  has  placed  his  yacht  at  his  dis- 
posal for  the  whole  of  September,  if  he  chooses  to  have  it. 
Now  I  must  ^y  good-bye  ;  for  Amy  and  I  are  going  out  to 
see  some  of  the  shooting ;  and  it  is  time  we  started. 
"Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Violet  North. 

"P.S. — Mr.  Drummond  is  quite  delighted  with  the  gun 
you  sent  him  ;  and  yesterday  he  tried  it  by  getting  old  Peter 
to  throw  empty  bottles  into  the  air.  Mr.  Drummond  did  not 
hit  any  of  the  bottles,  however.  I  could  see  that  it  must  be 
a  very  difficult  thing  to  do." 

"  Violet !  Amy !  Come  along  now,  and  bring  all  your  water- 
proofs, cloaks,  wrappers,  and  umbrellas  !  " 

A  tall,  gaunt  figure  was  standing  in  the  door-way,  clad  in  a 
rough  shooting-jacket,  leggings,  and  thick  boots.  A  much 
smaller  and  older  man — a  curious,  little,  weather-beaten  man 
— was  standing  outside,  holding  in  leash  a  very  ragged-look- 
setter. 
It'll  no  rain  the  day,"  the  old  man  said,  abruptly. 

"  But  it  is  raining,"  responded  Mr.  Drummond. 

The  wiry  little  man  cast  a  glance  around  at  the  gray  skies 
and  the  still  gray  sea. 

"  Na,  na,"  he  said,  "  it'll  no  rain  the  day." 

"  But,  confound  you,  it  is  raining ! "  cried  Drummond. 
*'  What  do  you  call  that  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  rain-drops  formed  by  the  drizzle  that 
had  fallen  on  the  well-oiled  barrels  of  his  breech-loader. 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  155 

"Well,  and  eff  the  gun  iss  to  come  to  harm  with  that," 
said  old  Peter,  testily,  "you  will  better  be  for  leafing  it  at 
home.  It  iss  the  gentlemen  now  that  they  will  tek  sich  care 
of  their  guns  ass  if  the  guns  wass  no  for  shooting  at  all. 
You  should  hef  brought  a  gun  that  wass  good  for  this  coun- 
try." 

""  You  will  have  to  clean  this  gun  very  carefully,  I  can  tell 
you,  Peter ;  and  every  night,  too." 

"I  will  not,"  said  the  old  man,  sturdily.  "There  iss  no 
man  will  know  more  apout  guns  as  me ;  and  effery  Satur- 
day night,  that  will  do  ferry  well.  It  wass  Mr.  Maclean,  of 
Carn-Sloe,  he  used  to  say  to  the  gentlemen  at  the  house, 
'  Kott,  what  would  w^e  do  without  ta  Sunday  eifery  week  ? 
our  guns  would  neffer  be  cleaned  at  all  But  the  Sunday,  it 
wass  made  for  other  things  as  the  cleaning  of  guns  ;.  and  the 
Saturday  night,  that  will  do  better  for  me." 

"  Then  you  won't  clean  my  gun  every  night  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  use  of  it." 

"  Then  I  must  do  it  myself,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  Ferry  well." 

The  two  girls  now  came  down-stairs,  fully  equipped  for  the 
expedition  ;  and  the  oddly  assorted  party  now  set  out. 

"  Is  that  dog  of  yours  any  better  behaved,  Peter  t  " 

"He's  a  grand  good  dog,  a  ferry  good  dog,"  said  the  old 
Highlandman.  "  There  iss  just  nothing  that  will  pass  the 
nose  of  him.  Ay,  I  will  say  this,  that  sometimes  he  is  a  some- 
thing too  eager  in  the  rinnin'  in — ay,  just  a  wee  thing  too 
eager." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "he  has  no  fault  at  all — be- 
yond a  fancy  for  eating  every  bird  you  shoot." 

The  old  man  was  nettled  ;  but  there  was  a  humorous  twin- 
kle in  his  eyes  all  the  same. 

"  Ay,  sir  ;  but  even  then  he  v/ill  not  get  too  fat  when  he  iss 
out  with  you,  sir." 

"  Confound  you,  Peter,  you  are  more  impertinent  than  ever." 

"  Na,  na,  sir ;  I  will  only  speak  the  truth  to  you,  ass  you 
will  speak  it  to  me  ;  and  there  is  no  harm  in  that." 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Peter,"  said  a  certain  tall  young  lad}^,  with 
great  asperity  and  dignity — "  I  think  you  might  speak  the 
truth  a  little  more  respectfully." 

The  old  keeper  gave  a  side-glance  as  he  trudged  along. 

"  Ay,  I  am  no  in  the  use  of  heffing  leddies  come  out  to  the 
shooting." 

"  Peter  and  I  understand  each  other  very  well,  Violet," 
Mr.  Drummond  said.     "  You  will  soon  learn  not  to  mind  wha 


156  MADCAP  VIOLET 

he  says — especially  when  he  reports  about  the  game.  I  sup- 
pose you  are  quite  prepared,  Peter,  to  find  the  forms  of  thirty 
or  forty  wholly  imaginary  hares  at  a  moment's  notice  ?  " 

Peter  but  half  understood  the  sarcasm. 

"  There  iss  plenty  of  game,  if  there  wass  any  one  to  shoot 
it,"  said  he  coolly ;  and  then  he  added,  with  another  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  "  Did  you  effer  hear,  mem,  of  John  MacFarlane, 
that  was  sent  out  by  Mr.  Maclean,  of  Carn-Sloe,  with  the  two 
English  gentlemen  ? " 

"  No,  I  never  did,"  said  Violet. 

"Ay,  it  iss  ferry  cleffer  some  of  the  English  gentlemen 
are  ;  and  they  wass  coming  to  see  a  piece  of  shooting  that 
Carn-Sloe  had  to  let ;  and  John  MacFarlane,  he  went  with 
them  ;  and  Carn-Sloe,  he  had  told  John  to  gif  a  good  account 
of  the  ground.  And  they  was  asking  him,  '  John,  iss  there 
any  pheasants  here  ? '  And  he  will  say,  '  They're  just  in 
soosands  ; '  ^  for  he  would  get  Carn-Sloe  a  good  price.  And 
they  wass  asking  him,  *  John,  iss  there  any  parrtriches  here  1 ' 
And  he  will  say,  '  They're  just  in  soosands.'  And  one  of  the 
English  gentleman  he  wass  a  cleffer  young  man  ;  and,  for 
the  joke  of  it,  he  will  ask, '  John,  is  there  many  gorillas  too  ? 
And  John,  he  will  see  him  winking,  and  he  will  say,  '  No, 
there  iss  no  many  gorillas  here ;  they  comes  and  goes  in 
twos  and  threes — just  like  yoursels.'  And  it  wass  a  ferry 
good  answer  to  the  young  man." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  margin  of  the  shooting, 
and  the  tall  sportsman  was  transferring  to  his  pockets  some 
of  the  cartridges  which  Peter  carried,  when  suddenly  the 
whole  world  seemed  to  grow  black  around  them.  They  had 
passed  the  last  signs  of  cultivation ;  and  the  only  possible 
shelter  from  the  impending  storm  was  a  wall  of  rough  stones 
that  ran  up  the  valley  between  two  hills.  As  the  first  heavy 
drops  were  already  plashing  down,  they  had  to  make  a  race 
for  this  dike  ;  Peter  following  up  the  retreat  with  ill-concealed 
disgust.  Here  was  the  mischief  of  taking  ladies  out  shoot- 
ing— and  on  the  12  th,  too. 

The  small  group  successfully  crouched  under  the  wall,  the 
driving  wind  carrying  the  fierce  torrents  of  rain  well  over 
them  ;  while  Peter  stood  out  in  the  open,  unconcernedly  look- 
ing out  toward  the  sea. 

"  Why,  Mull  has  disappeared  altogether ! "  cried  Violet, 
who  was  also  looking  that  way. 

"  Oh  yes,  they  sometimes  have  a  drop  of  rain  in  Mull," 
said  Mr.  Drummond,  contentedly,  doubled  up  like  a  trussed 
*  "  Soosands  " — thousands. 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  157 

fowl.  "  I  asked  a  Mull  man  last  year,  in  August,  what  he 
thought  of  the  Mull  weather;  and  he  said,  quite  compla- 
cently, '  It  uz  verra  good  weather — ay,  verra  good  weather ; 
there  waz  a  whole  week  in  June  we  hadna  a  single  drop 
o'  rain  ;  but  the  weather  it  uz  a  little  bit  broken  after  the  20th 
of  August.'  But  do  you  see  Mull  now  ?  Isn't  that  wonder- 
ful \     And  look  at  Morven  !  " 

What  strange  apparition  of  a  world  was  this — far  behind 
the  rain,  and  shining  in  pale  yellows  and  greens  ?  The  inter- 
mediate veil  of  a  rainy  cloud  served  to  show  the  distant  sun- 
lit sea  and  the  hills  as  something  pale,  magical,  and  remote ; 
while  the  island  of  Lismore,  nearer  at  hand,  began  to  gleam 
through  a  mass  of  rainbow  colors  that  seemed  to  lie  along  the 
sea  for  a  space  of  fifteen  or  twenty  miles.  This  strange  and 
spectral  world  was  full  of  motion,  too — its  aspect  changing 
every  minute — as  the  black  clouds  broke  overhead  to  show 
bold  dashes  of  white  and  blue ;  as  the  distant  sunlight  drank 
up  the  rain-clouds,  and  then  the  great  hills  came  out  distant 
a'hd  clear,  and  all  round  the  splendid  coasts  of  Morven,  Mull, 
and  Lome  the  rushing  blue  seas  of  the  Atlantic  shone  in  the 
light. 

This  warm  burst  of  sunlight  roused  the  crouching  party ; 
and  when  they  stood  up  they  found  the  beautiful  bright  day 
showing  the  colors  of  the  hills  around  at  their  very  richest — 
the  clear,  shining  grays  of  the  rocks,  the  pink  patches  of  hea- 
ther, the  yellow-greens  of  the  bracken,  and  the  curious  blue- 
greens  of  the  furze,  with  everywhere  to  each  point  of  light 
a  sharp  black  shadow. 

"  Are  ye  ready  now,  sir  t  "  said  Peter,  impatiently. 

"  You  needn't  be  in  a  hurry,  Peter ;  there's  nothing  to 
shoot,  you  know." 

Now,  these  words  had  scarcely  been  uttered  v/hen  an  ex- 
traordinary circumstance  occurred.  The  party  were  passing 
by  the  side  of  a  small  inclosure  of  young  larches  planted  along 
the  side  of  the  hill ;  and  just  at  this  moment  a  hare  ran  out 
right  in  front  of  them. 

"  Shoot,  sir,  shoot !  "  yelled  Peter,  seeing  that  the  sports- 
man calmly  contemplated  the  hare,  without  putting  up  his  gun. 

The  animal  had  been  so  startled  by  coming  unexpectedly 
on  its  foes  that,  for  a  second,  it  had  remained  motionless, 
staring  with  large  paralyzed  gray  eyes  at  them  ;  then  the  next 
moment  it  was  off  and  up  the  hill  like  lightning.  Peter  could 
not  restrain  the  rage  and  disappointment  that  possessed  him  ; 
he  uttered  a  whole  series  of  ejaculations  in  Gaelic,  and  then 
flung  up  his  hands  in  despair. 


158  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Did  you  see  her  beautiful  eyes  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Drummond 
of  Violet. 

"  Yes,  only  for  a  moment." 

"  Who  could  put  up  a  gun  and  bang  the  head  off  an  animal 
that  was  looking  at  you  like  that !  "  he  said,  absently. 

"  Uncle,  mamma  will  laugh  at  you  again,"  said  Miss  Amy. 
"  Peter  is  sure  to  tell  her." 

"  Did  you  see  how  she  ran  ?  "  he  asked  again,  quite  uncon- 
cernedly. "What  a  wonderful  piece  of  mechanism  !  If  you 
could  think  of  speed  as  an  abstraction,  and  put  ii  in  a  coat 
of  brown  fur,  that  would  be  a  hare.     Well,  come  on." 

"  Will  I  tek  home  the  dog  ? "  asked  Peter,  in  bitter  sarcasm. 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  wass  maybe  going  up  to  the  loch  with  the 
leddies.     Or  would  you  rather  try  the  shooting  ?  " 

"Try  the  shooting.?  If  I  tickled  you  under  the  fifth  rib 
with  a  charge  of  number-six  shot — and  it  would  serve  you 
right — you  wouldn't  be  so  desperately  facetious,  Peter.  Let 
loose  that  precious  dog  of  yours.  We'll  see  if  we  can  get  him 
something  to  eat." 

They  had  now  reached  a  series  of  heathery  and  rocky  knolls 
forming  a  ridge  along  the  side  of  the  mountain  ;  and  here  ihe 
ragged  brown  setter  was  set  at  liberty,  to  the  no  small  alarm 
of  many  small  birds  which  he  industriously  hunted  up  as  he 
plunged  madly  about. 

"  Have  a  care.  Jack  ?  "  Peter  called  out,  in  a  muttered  whis- 
per.    "  Now,  sir,  now  !  " 

Mr.  Drummond  hurried  forward,  though  with  a  dark  suspi- 
cion that  Jack  was  drawing  him  on  to  a  chaffinch  or  a  thrush. 
The  suspicion  was  wrong,  however,  for  just  as  Jack,  yielding 
to  temptation,  suddenly  darted  his  nose  into  a  tuft  of  heather, 
there  was  a  wild  whir  of  wings,  and  a  rapid  discharge  of  two 
barrels. 

"  Down  charge,  confound  you  !  "  were  the  last  words  heard 
by  Jack,  as  the  gallant  animal  forthwith  darted  off  in  joyous 
pursuit  of  the  bird,  which  had  flown  off  unharmed. 

"  That's  a  nice  dog  of  yours,  Peter,"  remarked  Mr.  Drum- 
mond, when  his  ancient  came  up. 

"The  poor  beast  thinks  the  bird  maun  be  got  somehow," 
retorted  Peter,  with  composure. 

"  How  could  you  miss  him  !  "  exclaimed  Violet. 

"  Uncle,  he  got  up  under  your  feet !  " 

"  And  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  as  big  as  a  peacock." 

"You  might  have  hit  him  with  your  cap,  Mr.  Drummond." 

The  sportsman  was  not  affected  by  these  taunts  and  jeers. 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  159 

"A}',  that  was  just  it,"  he  said,  seriously.  "I  fired  too 
soon." 

"  Deed,  that  iss  ferry  true,  sir,"  interposed  Peter.  "  You 
fired  eight  days  too  soon." 

"What  do  you  mean .? "  said  the  victim  of  all  this  sarcasm, 
with  a  stare. 

"  Did  you  not  see  it  was  a  blackcock .''  " 

"  Good  gracious  !  " 

There  was  a  shout  of  merciless  laughter  from  the  two 
young  ladies,  which  drew  down  upon  them  the  remark  that  if 
they  treated  so  grave  a  matter  as  the  12  th  of  August  with 
levity  and  ridicule,  they  had  better  go  on  at  once  to  the  fresh- 
water loch  and  gather  lilies.  And  indeed  they  resolved  to 
accept  this  advice ;  for  struggling  through  the  heather  was 
somewhat  fatiguing  work ;  and  now  the  sun  was  shining  down 
with  a  scorching  heat.  So,  with  Amy  as  a  guide,  the  two 
young  ladies  set  off  up  the  hill  toward  a  small  and  lonely 
mere  which  was  to  be  the  trysting-place  for  luncheon ;  while 
Mr.  Drummond  and  his  faithful  companion  went  on  their  way 
through  the  thick  heather. 

"  Ay,  we  will  do  ferry  much  better  now,"  said  Peter,  with 
an  air  of  relief.  "  There  iss  no  shooting  at  all  when  the 
leddies  will  come  out — and  the  talking — and  the  talking — " 

Out  of  a  bunch  of  sedges  growing  in  one  of  the  hollows 
started,  with  a  sudden  whir  and  cr}'  of  alarm,  a  strange  gray 
animal  that  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with  fire-works  and  impossi- 
ble angles ;  there  was  a  loud  bang  from  one  of  the  barrels : 
then  a  confused  tumbling  of  wings  as  the  snipe  fell  dead  on  a 
bit  of  rock. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Peter,  indignantly,  as  he 
rescued  the  bird  from  the  jaws  of  Jack,  "  that  there  would  be 
no  shooting  when  the  leddies  wass  here  with  their  talking — " 

"  Confound  you,  you  talk  more  than  a  dozen  ladies — " 

"  And  you  will  shoot  as  well  ass  any  one  when  you  will  not 
mek  a  joke  of  it ;  and  it  iss  not  every  one  will  shoot  a  snipe — " 

"  What  a  fool  the  bird  must  have  been  to  run  against  the 
shot  like  that,"  remarked  the  sportsman,  apparently  to  him- 
self ;  "  if  it  had  only  flown  straight  like  another  bird,  it  would 
be  alive  now." 

On  they  went  again,  with  the  blazing  sun  scorching  face 
and  hands,  and  not  a  breath  of  wind  coming  in  from  that  wide 
expanse  of  blue  sea.  Jack,  moderating  his  first  transports  at 
finding  himself  free,  was  working  a  little  better,  and  the 
garrulous  ancient  was  for  once  holding  his  tongue.  But  there 
were  no  birds.  • 


i6o  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Here,  sir,  here  !  "  shouted  Peter,  in  an  excited  whisper — 
"  a  rabbit !  " 

"  Where  ? " 

He  pointed  to  a  tuft  of  bracken  just  at  his  foot,  in  which 
the  rabbit  had  taken  refuge. 

"  Be  ready,  sir." 

"Stop  a  bit,"  remarked  the  sportsman,  calmly,  seeing  that 
the  rabbit  was  determined  to  remain  there  until  it  was  kicked 
out,  "I  can  not  take  advantage  of  this  poor  creature's  confi- 
dence— " 

"Will  ye  no  shoot  her?"  said  the  exasperated  Peter. 
"Tam  her,  I  will  wring  her  neck  then,  and  tek  her  home !" 

"  Hold  hard,  you  merciless  old  scoundrel !  I  am  mapping 
out  a  radius  of  forty  yards — she  shall  have  that  chance  for 
her  life — and  if  she  gets  beyond  that  she  can  do  what  she 
likes — call  a  hansom,  or  turn  round  and  have  a  look  at  us — " 

Peter's  impatience  was  too  much  for  him ;  he  would  not 
\vait  for  his  master  to  finish  ;  he  kicked  out  the  rabbit.  The 
frightened  animal  bolted  out  from  the  other  side  of  the 
brackens,  ran  tilt  against  Mr.  Drummond's  feet, .  and  then 
went  straight  up  the  side  of  the  knoll,  which  w^as  here  almost 
perpendicular.  The  sportsman  looked  on  in  astonishment. 
He  had  not  thought  it  w^orth  while  to  map  out  the  radius  in 
this  direction. 

"  Shoot  her,  sir !  shoot  her  ! "  called  out  Peter,  in  rage  and 
despair,  as  the  rabbit  disappeared  over  the  edge  of  the  rock 
above  their  heads. 

"I  don't  like  firing  at  rabbits  in  the  air,"  observed  Mr. 
Drummond,  with  much  composure.  "That  rabbit  was  last 
seen  in  Covent  Garden — in  the  opera  of  'Der  Freischutz;' 
the  preservation  of  my  soul  is  of  more  importance  than  a 
rabbit-pie.  And  what  would  become  of  you,  Peter,  if  you  eat 
a  witch-rabbit,  a  demoniacal  pie,  a  slice  of  hideous  enchant- 
ment— " 

"  Kott  pless  me,  sir,  are  we  to  hef  any  shooting  the  day .? " 
exclaimed  Peter,  observing  that  the  sportsman  was  quite  ab- 
sently staring  out  at  the  sea  while  he  talked — and  while  Jack, 
by-the-w^ay,  had  got  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead. 

"  Not  much,  not  much,"  was  the  reply.  "  Where  are  the 
birds,  Peter  t  " 

Indeed  there  were  no  birds  to  be  found  along  these  lower 
ridges  of  the  hills,  but  Peter  would  have  every  inch  of  the 
ground  gone  over  before  going  up  to  the  heights.  At  last, 
however,  after  two  hours'  fruitless  work  in  the  blazing  sun- 
light, they  began.to  ascend,  and  finally  founxl  themselves  on 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  i6i 

the  crest  of  a  mountain  which  seemed  to  place  the  whole 
world  at  their  feet.  Even  if  he  had  been  less  fatigued  with 
the  climb,  the  gallant  sportsman  would  have  paused  in  the 
chase  to  look  at  the  wonderful  panorama  now  spread  out 
around  him. 

Which  was  the  more  lovely,  then — the  seaward  view,  or 
the  landward  ?  The  far-stretching  arms  of  the  still  blue 
water  lay  around  the  soft  green  islands  ;  the  sunlight  shone 
on  the  white  tower  of  a  light-house  some  dozen  miles  away ; 
one  or  two  ships,  looking  like  toys,  lay  becalmed ;  and  away 
beyond  these,  over  the  dazzling  brightness  of  the  sea,  rose 
the  majestic  shoulders  and  peaks  of  the  Morven  hills,  grown 
pale  and  ethereal  in  their  summer  hues.  Inland,  again,  the 
eye  rested  on  an  endless  series  of  mountain  ranges — moun- 
tain billows  they  almost  seemed  to  be — decreasing  in  inten- 
sity of  color  until  they  appeared  as  mere  clouds  at  the  horizon. 
Those  nearer  at  hand  were  mostly  of  an  olive-green  color 
where  the  sunlight  caught  their  slopes,  with  here  and  there  a 
patch  of  pale  purple,  telling  of  a  motionless  cloud  overhead. 
Which  was  the  more  lovely — the  blue  summer  sea,  with  its 
low  long  islands,  its  white  ships,  and  its  faintly  colored  hills, 
or  this  vast  and  silent  world  of  mountains,  close  up  to  the 
sky? 

"  Are  ye  no  goin'  on,  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Drummond  started,  for  a  hiynaji  voice  sounded  strange- 
ly in  the  great  stillness. 

"  All  right,  Peter." 

Again  they  pushed  forward,  and  it  almost  seemed  as  if 
their  bad  luck  was  following  them  up  here  also,  when  Jack 
suddenly  ceased  his  wild  plunges  over  the  moor.  He  had 
got  into  a  gentle  hollow  between  a  mass  of  rocks,  and  ap- 
peared convinced  that  the  rusty  tufts  of  heather  and  the 
green  masses  of  bracken  concealed  something  mysterious  and 
awful. 

Suddenly  the  absolute  Silence  of  the  mountain-top  was 
broken  by  what  was  nothing  less  than  a  wild  and  general 
scrimmage.  From  all  parts  of  the  heather,  one  after  another, 
rose  a  succession  of  huge  brown  masses,  that  flew  this  way 
and  that  with  a  noise  like  the  throbbing  of  a  paddle-steamer 
infinitely  quickened ;  and  bang  after  bang  came  from  the  reload- 
ed gun.  The  dog  seemed  to  be  rushing  everywhere,  with  Peter 
howling  oaths  in  Gaelic  at  him ;  the  air  was  filled  with  sulphur- 
ous smoke  ;  the  hills  were  echoing  the  heavy  musketry-tire. 

Then  there  was  a  pause — an  awful  silence,  and  a  look  of 
bewilderment  on  the  face  of  the  sportsman.    ,Had  he  shot 


i62  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

any  thing  ?  he  seemed  to  ask,  after  all  this  terrible  commo- 
tion. 

'I'here  was  a  loud  howl  from  Jack ;  for  Peter — assured  that 
the  firing  was  over,  and  his  life  no  longer  in  danger — had 
rushed  at  the  dog  to  admonish  him  with  a  whip,  at  the  same 
time  getting  hold  of  a  bird  that  was  doubtless  on  the  point 
of  being  devoured. 

"  That  is  a  nice  dog  of  yours,  Peter." 

"  He  iss  a  ferra  good  dog  whateffer,"  contended  Peter 
sturdily,  as  he  went  to  pick  up  two  more  birds.  "  Ass  I  wass 
saying  afore,  there  will  be  nothing  will  pass  the  nose  of  him, 
and  if  he  iss  a  little  too  eager  in  the  rinnin',  we  can  cure  him 
of  that.  And  we  will  not  cure  him  of  that  unless  you  will 
shoot  the  birds." 

"  Are  you  grumbling  still  ?  Haven't  I  just  shot  some 
birds  ? " 

"  Three,  sir ;  ay,  sir,  you  hef  shot  three.  But  ass  for  the 
number  of  them  you  hef  missed,  ay,  Kott  only  knows  that." 

"  By  heavens,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  shoot  you,  Peter." 

"  You  would  miss  me,  sir,"  said  Peter,  imperturbably. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  rob  the  hangman,  anyhow,"  said  his 
master.  "  Now  put  the  birds  in  your  bag,  and  we  will  go 
down  to  the  loch." 

"  Already,  sir  ?  "  said  Peter ;  but  the  remonstrance  was  of 
no  avail,  the  sportsman  proceeding  to  cross  the  ridge  of  the 
hill  until  he  came  in  sight  of  a  fresh-water  loch,  lying  in  a 
small  hollow  far  below  him. 

It  was  a  picturesque  little  lake  that  lay  there  in  the  cup  of 
the  mountains.  One  half  of  its  surface  was  hidden  by  water- 
lilies,  the  white  stars  of  the  flowers  gleaming  here  and  there 
among  the  broad  green  leaves ;  the  other  half  of  the  lake 
showing  a  perfect  mirror  of  the  overhanging  hills  and  sky ; 
with  this  difference,  that  whereas  the  brilliant  colors  of  the 
sky  were  faithfully  reflected,  the  spectral  mountains  that 
went  away  down  into  those  blues  and  whites  were  of  a  uni- 
form rich  shining  brown,  as  deep  in  color  as  a  newly  cut  peat. 
That,  indeed,  was  the  color  of  the  clear,  dark  water  itself, 
come  from  the  mountain  rills. 

There  was  a  small  boat  on  the  lake,  lying  motionless ;  and 
there  were  two  figures  in  the  boat,  one  distinguished  by  a 
white  feather  that  gleamed  in  the  sun.  When  the  sports- 
man, high  on  the  mountain-top,  sent  down  his  view-halloo,  he 
was  answered  by  a  flutter  of  two  handkerchiefs ;  and  pres- 
ently, as  he  proceeded  to  descend  the  hill,  he  saw  two  tiny 
oars  put  out,  and  the  boat  begin  to  creep  slowly  to  the  shore. 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  163 

"  Now,  girls,  set  to  work  to  get  luncheon  ready,"  was  the 
command.  "  Why,  you  might  have  had  the  hamper  opened, 
and  the  cloth  spread  on  the  grass,  and  every  thing  ready,  in- 
stead of  idling  out  there  in  a  boat.  Is  this  a  fit  reception  for 
a  weary  hunter  returning  from  the  fatigue  of  the  chase  ?  " 

"  What  spoils  has  the  weary  hunter  brought  back  with 
him  ? "  demanded  the  elder  of  the  two  girls ;  whereupon  she 
was  admonished  not  to  indulge  a  vain  curiosity,  but,  instead,- 
to  put  the  bottles  of  beer  into  the  lake  to  cool.  The  weary  hun- 
ter contentedly  sat  and  beheld  these  and  other  preparations 
being  made  for  his  comfort. 

It  was  a  sufficiently  picturesque  and  enjoyable  little  meal, 
up  here  by  the  side  of  the  solitary  lake,  amidst  the  silence 
of  the  hills,  in  the  breathless  warmth  and  brilliancy  of  a 
summer  day.  The  discontented  Peter  and  his  erratic  com- 
panion Jack  were  both  seated  at  some  distance  off,  on  a  bank 
of  green  brackens ;  and  with  them  was  the  boy  who  had 
brought  the  basket  all  the  way  from  Castle  Bandbox.  In 
front  of  the  mighty  hunter  lay  the  four  birds  that  had  been 
taken  forth  from  the  bag  for  purposes  of  display.  The  lunch- 
eon itself  was  distributed  in  a  promiscuous  manner  over  such 
bits  of  rock,  tufts  of  heather,  and  clumps  of  bracken  as  were 
most  convenient. 

And  when  a  soothing  pipe  followed  the  frugal  meal,  and 
introduced  a  new  perfume  into  the  v/arm  air,  the  hunter,  with 
a  great  look  of  contentment  on  his  face,  began  to  discourse  ; 
and  his  discourse  w^as  of  all  things  in  the  earth,  and  in  the 
air,  and  the  sea.  First  of  all,  if  the  report  of  a  faithful  list- 
ener is  to  be  credited,  it  treated  of  the  dying-out  of  meta- 
phoric  speech  in  literature.  It  pointed  out  that  the  whole  of 
Shakspeare  is  written  in  that  now  unknown  tongue ;  it  dealt 
with  the  substitution  of  similes  for  metaphors ;  it  traced  the 
degeneracy  of  similes  into  the  '*  allusions  "  of  newspaper  ar- 
ticles. And  then,  harking  back  upon  Shakspeare,  it  asserted 
that  the  greatest  good  fortune  which  could  befall  a  certain 
young  lady,  then  present,  was  that  she  might  never  lose  her 
sense  of  wonder ;  that  she  should  never  get  into  the  habit  of 
taking  the  facts  and  phenomena  of  the  world  as  matters  of 
course ;  that  always  the  mystery  of  life  should  be  before  her 
eyes.  What  happiness  it  would  be,  continued  this  indolent 
orator,  if  one  could  come  fresh  to  the  reading  of  Shakspeare ; 
if  one's  familiarity  in  youth  with  the  existence  of  Juliet,  and 
Rosalind,  and  King  Lear,  and  Autolycus,  could  be  absolutely 
wiped  out;  if  one  were  introduced  with  all  the  sense  of  nov- 
elty and  wonder  to  the  magic  world  of  Puck  and  Ariel,  to  the 


i64  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

mysterious  horrors  of  "  Macbeth,"  and  the  idyllic  quiet  of  Ar- 
deii  Forest.  "  By-and-by,"  remarked  the  master  to  his  atten- 
tive pupil,  "  you  will  understand  better  what  I  mean  when  we 
take  you  to  the  lonely  shores  of  Mull  and  the  solitary  coasts 
of  Skye ;  and  there  you  will  learn  how  the  ways  and  doings 
of  humanity,  which  are  the  whole  world  to  a  dweller  in  cities, 
are  really  but  a  trifling  and  temporary  accident  in  the  history 
of  that  awful  v/orld  that  existed  through  innumerable  ages 
without  a  sign  of  life  in  its  empty  seas  and  its  silent  lands." 

"You  ask  me  sometimes,"  he  then  said,  apparently  ad- 
dressing Violet,  but  with  his  eyes  fixed  idly  on  the  still  waters 
of  the  lake,  "  why  I  laugh  at  very  serious  people  who  are 
desperately  in  earnest  about  their  affairs.  Well,  I  think  it 
was  those  lonely  hills  in  the  West  Highlands  did  that  for  me. 
If  you  only  think  of  it,  it  seems  strange  enough,  this  intense 
preoccupation,  during  the  brief  moment  that  one  calls  life — 
this  forgetfulness  of  why  and  wherefore,  and  to  what  end. 
The  man  who  has  made  his  eighty  thousand  is  miserable  until 
he  makes  his  ninety  thousand ;  and  he  works  away  as  if  he 
had  a  whole  series  of  life-times  to  fall  back  upon,  instead  of 
one,  and  that  one  the  most  puzzling  of  all  mysteries.  Those 
mountains  of  Skye,  in  their  awful  age,  and  silence,  and  deso- 
lation— I  wonder  if  they  take  any  notice  of  the  race  of  little 
creatures  temporarily  occupying  the  surface  of  the  earth — 
children  who  take  no  heed  of  yesterday  or  to-morrow :  they 
don't  know  where  they  came  from ;  they  don't  know  where 
they  are  going;  but  the  present  hour  is  enough  for  them,  and 
they  must  be  desperately  in  earnest  over  their  pastimes 
and  occupations ;  some  strumming  on  drums  and  making  a 
great  noise  in  the  world ;  others  wearing  wigs  and  looking 
wise  ;  others  picking  up  bits  of  metal,  and  anxious  only  to 
say,  '  My  hoard  is  bigger  than  yours.'  And  then,  at  the  end 
of  the  day,  sleep  comes  down  on  the  children — the  gentle 
mother  Death  hushes  all  that  strife  of  drums  and  tongues, 
the  quarrelling,  and  striving,  and  anxiety — and  the  mystery 
of  that  strange  day  and  its  doings  remains  unsolved.  Per- 
haps the  new  day  will  bring  more  light,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Are  ye  goin'  on,  sir  ? "  said  Peter,  coming  up  with  evident 
impatience  in  his  face. 

"  Gracious  goodness  !  this  man  is  as  intent  on  killing  birds 
as  if  he  hadn't  a  soul  to  be  saved  !  "  exclaimed  the  indolent 
sportsman.  "Peter,  do  you  know  you  have  a  soul  to  be 
saved  ? " 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  165 

"  I  ken  we  hef  been  here  for  an  hour  and  more  as  an  hour," 
said  Peter,  gloomily. 

"  You  see,  he  won't  answer.  He  is  like  that  countr}aTian 
of  his  who  w^ouldn't  tell  a  cross-examining  counsel  whether  he 
was  a  Protestant  or  a  Roman  Catholic  for  fear  of  committing 
himself.  All  that  could  be  got  out  of  him  was,  '  I  tell  you,  sir, 
I  hef  no  bias.'  And  yet  it  is  very  curious,"  he  continued,  just 
as  if  there  were  no  hiatus  in  his  train  of  thought,  "what  rich 
people  could  do  if  only  they  were  less  in  earnest,  and  tried  to 
amuse  themselves.  I  have  often  thought  that  if  I  were  a  rich 
man  I  should  like  to  stand  at  Temple  Bar  with  a  thousand 
sovereigns  in  a  bag,  and  give  one  to  each  person  who  passed, 
irrespective  of  his  appearance.  Mind  you,  you  could  confer 
a  great  deal  of  happiness  that  way  ;  for  even  those  who  were 
themselves  rich  would  feel  a  comfortable  sensation  in  getting 
an  unexpected  sovereign  ;  they  would  get  a  little  glow  of  sat- 
isfaction, just  as  if  they  had  drunk  a  glass  of  dry  sherry  before 
sitting  down  to  dinner — " 

"  Are  ye  goin'  on,  sir  ?  "  again  asked  the  impatient  Peter. 

"Yes,  I  am  goin'  on,  Peter,  but  not  with  the  shooting — 
not  at  present.  Why,  your  head  is  as  full  of  the  shooting — 
you  remind  me  of  the  Highland  boatman  who  took  out  a  cele- 
brated traveler  in  his  boat  for  an  evening's  fishing ;  and  when 
he  was  asked  afterward  what  he  thought  of  the  great  man,  he 
said,  with  great  bitterness,  '  Ay,  hass  he  traveled  much  "i  Well, 
there  iss  no  appearance  of  it ;  for  I  wass  thinking  he  would 
speak  of  killing  and  fighting  the  lions  and  teegers  ;  but  it 
wass  nothing  but  the  feshen  and  the  feshen  he  will  speak  of, 
and  there  wass  nothing  in  his  head  but  the  feshen  and  the 
feshen,  and  any  one  knows  about  the  feshen.'  But  if  we  must 
go,  we  must.  You  girls  must  put  back  those  things  in  the 
basket  and  give  it  to  the  boy.  Amy,  when  you  have  reported 
yourself  at  home,  go  down  to  John  Maclean  and  tell  him  we 
shall  want  his  boat  to-night.  Take  a  brace  of  birds  apiece. 
Good-bye  1  " 

"  Any  more  orders,  please,  sir  ? "  asked  Violet,  meekly. 

"  Go  away,  and  don't  be  impertinent  to  people  older  than 
yourself,"  said  the  sportsman,  as  he  shouldered  his  gun  and 
set  off. 

Now  that  afternoon,  whether  it  was  that  he  considered 
something  due  to  the  i2th,  or  whether  it  was  that  he  wished 
to  provide  the  small  household  with  game  sufficient  to  give 
him  two  or  three  days  idleness,  Mr.  Drummond  v/ent  seri- 
ously and  diligently  to  work  ;  and  by  dint  of  firing  a  great  many 
times,  whether  the  birds  rose  wild  or  not,  he  managed  to  make 


i66  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

a  bag  which  even  satisfied  Peter.  As  they  walked  home,  in- 
deed, in  the  evening,  Peter  was  quite  cheerful  and  loquacious 
— in  his  grim  fashion,  that  is  to  say,  for  in  his  most  mirthful 
moments  he  spoke  in  a  discontented,  querulous  tone,  as  if  he 
dared  not  admit  to  himself  that  he  had  nothing  to  grumble 
about.  And  on  this  occasion  his  unwonted  levity  took  the 
form  of  telling  stories  about  a  relative  of  his,  one  John  Mac- 
Farlane,  who  was  keeper  to  Mr.  Maclean  of  Carn-Sioe  ;  and 
the  aim  of  those  stories,  so  far  as  could  be  made  out,  was  to 
show  that  John  MacFarlane  was  a  stupid  man  who  said  and 
did  ridiculous  things,  but  that,  all  the  same,  John  MacFarlane 
was  more  than  a  match  for  the  English,  who  were  more  stupid 
still. 

"  Ay,"  said  Peter,  "  there  wass  a  ferry  cleffer  Englishman, 
and  he  will  know  all  about  the  stones  and  rocks,  and  he  will 
say  to  John,  'John,  you  belief  in  your  Bible,  and  you  belief 
that  all  the  people  that  hef  lived  in  the  world  will  rise  again 
on  the  last  day ; '  and  John  he  will  say,  *  Yes,  sir,  I  belief  that.' 
And  the  Englishman,  he  will  say,  '  Now,  John,  I  will  tell  you 
something ;  and  it  is  this,  that  if  the  whole  world  wass  made  of 
phosphates,  there  would  not  be  enough  of  phosphates  to  make 
bones  for  all  those  people  ;  and  what  do  you  say  to  that, 
John  ? '  And  John,  he  will  not  wait  long  for  his  answer  : 
'  Well  sir,'  this  wass  what  John  will  say,  '  the  Bible  will  tell  us 
that  them  arc  dead  in  the  Lord  will  rise  first ;  and  I  am  sure 
there  will  be  plenty  of  phosphates  for  them  ;  and  as  for  the 
wicked  people,  I  do  not  care  if  they  hef  not  a  leg  to  stand  on.' 
And  it  wass  a  ferry  good  answer  to  gif  to  the  Englishman." 

"  It  was  a  very  good  answer,  but  it  is  a  very  wicked  story, 
Peter." 

"  There  wass  another  story,"  continued  Peter,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  but  the  same' grumbling  tone  in  his  voice, 
''  ferry  wicked ;  but  many's  the  time  I  will  hef  a  laugh  at  that 
story.  That  wass  about  two  men  in  a  boat,  and  the  night  it 
wass  so  black  they  could  not  find  their  way  into  the  harbor 
at  all,  and  the  wind  it  wass  blojving  ferry  hard.  And  the  one 
he  says  to  the  other,  *  Duncan,  you  must  gif  a  prayer  now, 
or  we  will  never  get  in  to  the  harbor  at  all'  And  Duncan,  he 
says,  '  I  canna  do  it ;  you  maun  do  it  yourself,  Donald.' 
And  Donald,  he  will  say,  *  Tam  you,  Duncan,  if  you  do  not 
gif  a  prayer,  we  will  be  trooned  as  sure  as  death,  for  I  can 
see  nothing  but  blackness.'  And  so  it  wass  that  Duncan  will 
stay  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  he  will  kneel  down,  and  he 
will  say,  '  O  Lord,  it  iss  fifteen  years  since  I  hef  asked  you 
for  any  thing ;  but  it  will  be  another  fifteen  years  before  I  will 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  167 

ask  you  for  any  thing  more,  if  you  will  tek  the  boat  into  the 
harbor.'  And  then,  sure  enough,  at  this  moment  there  wass 
a  great  sound  of  the  boat  going  on  the  beach,  and  Donald, 
that  was  up  at  the  bow,  he  will  cry  out,  '  Stop,  Duncan,  do 
not  pray  any  more ;  do  not  be  beholden  to  any  body,  bekass 
the  boat's  ashore  already.'  " 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Peter,"  said  his  companion,  slowly,  "  that 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  latent  villainy  about  you." 

"  What,  sir  ?  " 

"You  are  a  jiber  and  a  jeerer  at  solemn  things." 

"  Indeed  I  am  not,  sir,"  said  Peter,  indignantly.  "  A  story 
iss  only  a  story,  and  you  will  get  a  laugh  from  it ;  and  the 
man  who  iss  afrait  of  a  story  iss  a  foolish  man,  whether  he  iss 
an  Englishman  or  whether  he  iss  not  an  Englishman." 

"  In  my  country  they  don't  understand  joking  about  such 
things,  Peter." 

"  Kott  pless  me,  sir,-  in  your  country  I  am  not  sure  that 
they  will  understand  any  thing,"  said  Peter,  coolly. 

This  general  proposition  Peter  proceeded  to  justify  by 
quoting  instances  of  extraordinary  ignorance  on  the  part  of 
English  people  whom  he  had  met — people  who  did  not  know 
the  difference  between  a  sea-trout  and  a  grilse,  who  called  a 
loch  a  lock,  and  wore  kid  gloves  when  they  went  out  shooting. 
Mr.  Drummond  listened  with  great  patience  and  in  silence, 
apparently  deeply  ashamed  of  his  country  and  country-men. 

And  now,  as  they  trudged  along  the  solitary  road,  they  got 
down  into  the  valleys  ;  and  though  there  was  a  wooded  hill 
on  their  left  that  shut  off  the  sea,  they  saw  by  the  great  blaze 
of  crimson  over  the  dark  line  of  the  trees  that  the  sun  was 
setting  in  the  west ;  while  in  the  wide  and  silent  hollow  be- 
fore them,  over  the  cold  greens  of  the  marsh,  a  pale  white 
mist  was  beginning  to  gather.  Suddenly,  however,  they  got 
out  of  this  pale  and  cold  valley,  and  w^ere  confronted  by  all 
the  bewildering  colors  of  the  sunset  over  the  sea.  Along 
the  western  skies  lay  a  sultry  and  dusky  redness — a  confused 
mist  of  colored  light  ;  and  the  mountains  of  Mull  and  of  Mor- 
ven,  rising  into  it,  were  of  a  beautiful  reddish-purple,  and 
seemingly  transparent.  Out  there  the  long  green  islands  were 
growing  dark  over  the  silver-gray  of  the  sea — a  silver  gray 
broken  by  olive-green  splashes  as  the  water  lapped  round  the 
rocks  ;  but  farther  out  still  the  sea  was  a  smooth  plain  of 
crimson,  bewildering  to  the  eye,  and  causing  one  long  neck 
of  land  to  look  as  black  as  jet.  They  were  in  the  land  of 
gorgeous  sunsets  ;  and  the  stranger  had  not  as  yet  become 
familiar  with  such  splendid  exhibitions  of  color.     It  was  with 


i63  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

a  dumb  regret  that  he  had  to  turn  away  from  the  shore  again, 
and  take  to  the  hills,  though  now  the  warm  red  light  was 
shining  across  the  slopes  of  heather  and  bracken.  The 
small  white  house  on  the  high  knoll  gave  him  a  kindly  wel- 
come. A  pair  of  swallows  were  flying  about  the  gables.  A 
tiny  terrier  wagged  her  tail  as  he  approached.  There  was  a 
scent  of  meadow-sweet  in  the  evening  air. 

Three  brace  of  grouse,  three  hares,  a  rabbit,  a  brace  of 
snipe,  a  blackcock  (shot  by  misadventure,  and  carefully  hid- 
den away  at  the  foot  of  the  game-bag  by  the  unscrupulous 
Peter),  ^nd  a  landrail — this  was  the  spoil  which  the  mighty 
hunter  had  brought  home,  and  which  he  stoutly  contended 
was  all  that  a  man  could  get  off  that  piece  of  ground  in  a 
single  day.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a  fierce  war  of  words 
during  that  evening  meal  at  Castle  Bandbox ;  and  proposals 
to  call  in  Peter  to  give  testimony  as  to  the  number  of  misses. 
The  hunter  treated  these  suspicions  with  scorn. 

Greater  peace  prevailed  when  the  small  household  came 
out  again  into  the  cool  evening — indeed,  they  were  struck  si- 
lent by  the  transformation  that  had  come  over  the  world. 
All  round  the  horizon  the  great  mountains  were  black  as 
night;  over  them  was  the  smooth  and  lambent  expanse  of 
the  sky,  with  the  full  orb  of  the  moon  glowing  in  its  mellow 
light ;  far  away,  in  the  east,  over  the  black  range  of  the  hills, 
a  planet  burned  clear  in  the  blue.  Then  the  moonlight  fell 
on  the  furze  and  brackens  near  them,  touching  them  with  a 
soft  gray  ;  while  along  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  behind 
them,  where  there  were  strips  of  cultivated  land,  it  lighted 
up  those  small  patches  of  corn  almost  to  a  silver  whiteness 
among  the  ebony-black  shadows  of  the  overhanging  rocks. 
There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  clear,  dark  heavens,  nor  a  mur- 
mur from  the  far  expanse  of  the  sea. 

They  went  away  down  to  the  shore,  and  got  out  a  small 
rowing'boat,  and  rowed  away  from  the  land.  It  was  the  two 
girls  who  pulled ;  and  the  sound  of  the  oars  was  the  only 
sound  to  be  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  night ;  for  even  a 
certain  loquacious  philosopher  did  not  choose  to  break  the 
mystic  silence  that  reigned  over  the  world.  The  rocky  shores 
they  had  left  behind  became  blacker  and  blacker ;  the  points 
of  orange  fire  that  told  of  distant  cottages  became  smaller 
and  smaller;  the  white  moonlight  glittered  on  the  wet  blades 
of  the  oars.  Miill  and  Morvan  were  awful  in  their  gloom,  where 
the  great  mountains  seemed  to  be  alone  with  the  stars. 

"  What  a  dreadful  thing  it  would  be,"  Violet  said,  letting 
her  oar  rest  for  a  minute,  "  to  go  up  one  of  those  mountains 


CASTLE  BANDBOX,  N.  B.  169 

at  night,  all  by  yourself  ;  you  would  imagine  every  sound  was 
something  horrible — " 

"  Now,  Violet,  that  is  all  founded  on  a  common  mistake," 
said  another  voice.  "  Just  think  what  you  would  do  if  you 
were  a  ghost.  You  wouldn't  go  away  into  lonely  places, 
where  you  could  see  nothing,  of  a  cold  night,  and  prowl  about 
there.  Wouldn't  you  rather  take  a  nice  warm  forenoon,  and 
sit  invisible  on  a  stile,  and  see  the  country-folks  drive  by  to 
market  in  the  brisk  sunshine  ?  I  do  believe  that  ghosts  are 
friendly  fellows,  and  wouldn't  frighten  you  for  the  world. 
Often,  when  I  am  passing  a  wood,  I  wonder  whether  any  of 
them  are  sitting  on  the  fence,  having  a  quiet  hobnob  among 
themselves,  and  perhaps  laughing  at  the  way  you  walk.  Of 
course,  if  ghosts  should  plague  people  by  appearing  at  night, 
they  ought  always  to  plague  rich  people.  The  night  is  the 
day  of  the  poor ;  then  they  have  every  thing  redressed  and 
made  right  in  their  dreams.  A  rich  man  in  actual  life  can't 
enjoy  himself  half  so  much  as  a  poor  man  who  dreams  he  is 
rich,  or  a  neglected  man  who  dreams  he  is  famous,  or  a  sickly 
man  who  dreams  he  is  an  athlete.  But  do  you  know  who  must 
have  the  happiest  dreams  in  the  world  }  " 

Nobody  did  know. 

"  A  dog.  They  are  full  of  life  and  motion,  without  re- 
morse. And  were  you  ever  asked  a  conundrum  in  a  dream, 
the  answer  to  which  it  cost  you  a  desperate  effort  to  make 
out ;  altho.ugll  of  course  the  one  side  of  your  brain  that  made 
the  conundrum  must  have  known  the  answer  all  along.?  In 
going  to  sleep,  too,  haven't  you  had  a  clear  and  delightful 
consciousness  that  your  perceptions  and  fancies  were  grow- 
ing quite  the  reverse  of  clear — the  confusion  meaning  the 
approach  of  the  sleep  you  are  waiting  for  t  Then  there  is 
another —     Gracious  goodness  !  what's  that  1 " 

He  had  been  interrupted  by  a  loud  splash,  apparently  pro- 
ceeding from  a  rock  some  forty  or  fifty  yards  off. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  seal,"  said  he  ;  and  thereupon  he 
began  to  tell  his  companions  an  exciting  story  of  an  elderly 
and  near-sighted  gentleman  who  came  back  to  his  hotel  one 
day  complaining  that  he  had  fired  three  bullets  at  a  seal,  but 
missed  him  each  time  ;  and  of  a  negro  who  cam.e  running  in 
to  declare,  in  wrath  and  indignation,  that,  while  bathing,  he 
had  been  fired  at  three  times  from  the  shore,  and  had  his  ear 
cut  off.  Every  body  knew  that  that  true  legend  was  about 
three  minutes  old. 

By-and-by  they  set  off  again  for  the  shore,  and  when  they 
had  put  up  Mr.  Maclean's  boat,  they  proceeded  to  walk  away 


I70  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

up  into  the  liills,  where  the  moonlight  was  shining  coldly  on 
the  stone  walls,  the  furze  bushes,  and  the  scattered  patches 
of  corn.  The  voices  of  two  young  girls  broke  the  silence  of 
the  night,  singing  an  old  school-song  they  had  often  sung  to- 
gether. Then  they  bid  farewell  to  the  magic  world  of  moon- 
lit sea,  and  mountains,  and  sky ;  and  a  peaceful,  beautiful, 
and  memorable  day  came  to  a  welcome  end.  If  one's  life 
could  all  be  made  up  of  such  ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ABRA. 


"So  the  brisk,  bright  days  and  weeks  went  by;  and  the 
ceaseless  round  of  activities  in  the  open  air — whether  the  blue 
seas  lay  shining  in  the  light,  or  the  fierce  south-west  winds 
sent  the  foam  flying  high  over  the  rocks — brought  glad  health 
and  happiness  to  this  little  band  of  strangers,  and  plenty  of 
sun-brown  to  their  faces.  Violet  had  by  this  time  quite 
simply  and  naturally  fallen  into  her  position  in  the  household. 
She  felt  so  thoroughly  at  home  that  she  never  thought  of  the 
time  when  she  had  been  only  a  visitor  ;  and  to  her  friends  it 
seemed  as  though  she  had  always  been  with  them.  She 
would  have  been  well  content — as  she  frankly  told^Mrs.  War- 
rener  one  evening — to  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  'with  them 
up  here  in  this  Highland  cottage. 

A  woman  can  not  occupy  a  place  in  a  household  without 
having  some  sort  of  occupation  ;  and  it  was  almost  insensibly 
that  Miss  Violet,  while  helping  Mrs.  Warrener  in  certain 
things,  managed  to  create  a  new  series  of  duties  for  herself. 
These  had  for  their  open  and  and  ostensible  object  the  great- 
er care  and  comfort  of  that  somewhat  shy  potentate  who  pre- 
sided over  this  household  of  women  ;  and  it  is  probable  that 
any  other  man  than  himself  would  have  been  embarrassed 
by  these  attentions.  He  accepted  them,  however,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  which  greatly  pleased  the  giver  of  them,  who 
never  f-elt  so  proud  and  glad  as  when  he  asked  her  to  do 
something  for  him — not  in  the  language  in  wloich  one  would 
beg  a  favor  from  a  visitor,  but  in  a  much  more  curt  and 
familiar  way.  So  it  came  about  that  no  one  thought  of  in- 
terfering with  Miss  Violet  in  her  self-imposed  duties,  which 
were  performed  with  a  scrupulous  care  and  accuracy.  When 
Mr.  Drummond  came  down  of  a  morning,  he  never  noticed 


ABRA.  171 

that  his  sUppers  were  invariably  in  the  same  spot ;  that  his 
table-napkin  was  never  missing  ;  that  the  newspaper  which 
had  arrived  by  post  was  carefully  opened,  cut,  folded,  and 
placed  beside  his  plate.  His  shooting-boots  and  leggings 
were  always  at  hand  the  moment  he  wanted  them  ;  his  gun — 
which  seemed  to  keep  marvelously  clean,  although  Peter  ab- 
solutely declined  to  polish  it  every  day — awaited  him  in  the 
corner ;  there  were  always  the  proper  number  of  cartridges 
in  the  bag.  Nay,  she  had  succeeded  so  far  in  becoming  his 
henchman  that,  after  having  assisted  him  on  several  occa- 
sions in  measuring  out  powder  and  shot  for  the  cartridges, 
she  had  made  bold  to  make  the  cartridges  herself,  out  and 
out,  and  never  were  cartridges  more  accurately  constructed. 
She  kept  a  game  book  :  -but  she  refused  to  compare  the  num- 
ber of  cartridges  she  made  with  the  number  of  entries  in  that 
small  volume.  His  pocket-flask  was  always  mysteriously  fu-ll ; 
she  invariably  prepared  the  luncheon-bag  ;  on  the  .fine  days 
she  and  Amy  would  walk  out  to  meet  him — and  he  could 
recognize  the  proud  and  graceful  carriage  of  the  girl  a  mile 
off — and  on  the  wet  clays  she  had  dry  socks  and  slippers 
awaiting  him.  No  matter  what  he  wanted,  it  seemed  to  be 
always  just  by ;  and  he  did  not  know  what  pleasure  he  gave 
her  in  falling  into  the  habit  of  invariably  turning  to  her  with 
a  "  Violet,  I  wish  you  would  do  this  ;  "  or  "  Violet,  I  wish 
you  would  do  that." 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  amused  ;  but  ventured  to  remonstrate. 

"  Violet,  do  you  know  that  you  are  becoming  James's 
slave  ? " 

The  girl  flushed  for  a  second  ;  but,  all  the  same,  she  said, 
with  a  smile, 

"  I  don't  care,  so  long  as  I  have  so  good  a  master." 

As  for  him,  he  seemed  to  take  her  presence  in  the  house 
as  a  matter  of  course  ;  and  made  fun  of  her,  or  lectured  her, 
or  teased  her,  with  an  absolute  freedom  of  intimacy  and 
friendliness.  And  yet  there  were  one  or  two  subtle  distinc- 
tions between  his  treatment  of  her  and  his  treatment  of 
her  companions  which  she  did  not  fail  to  notice.  In 
walking  about  the  mountain-paths  in  the  evening,  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  taking  the  hand  of  his  companion  ;  but  he  never 
took  Violet's  hand.  When  he  was  impressing  some  pro- 
found moral  truth,  in  enigmatical  language,  upon  his  sister 
or  his  niece,  he  frequently  put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  patient  listener  to  enforce  his  precepts  ;  he  never  put 
his  hand  on  Violet's  shoulder.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  seem- 
ed to  recall  to  himself  that  she  was  a  guest  in  the  house,  and 


172  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

ought  to  be  treated  with  a  special  kindness  and  respect, 
ratlier  than  with  an  easy  familiarity,  and  thereupon  he  would 
make  some  essay  in  that  direction.  He  did  not  know  how 
these  efforts,  at  once  perceived  by  the  quick  sensitiveness  of 
the  girl,  wounded  her  to  the  heart ;  so  that,  instead  of  being 
pleased  by  his  gentle  courtesy,  she  was  like  to  have  gone 
away  to  her  own  room,  and  burst  into  tears  over  what 
seemed  a  rupture  of  the  old  and  friendly  relations  between 
the  master  and  his  slave. 

But  although  she  was  hurt  when  he  endeavored  to  treat  her 
with  respectful  consideration,  she,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
fierce  enough  if  any  one  failed  to  show  sufficient  respect  for 
him.  If  a  boatman,  encouraged  by  the  jocular  freedom  of 
Drummond's  manner  and  speech,  became  in  the  faintest  de- 
gree familiar,  he  received  a  reminder  there  and  then  which  he 
was  not  likely  to  forget.  She  had  completely  overawed  old 
Peter ;  who  was  at  first  sulky,  then  betrayed  a  sort  of  grumb- 
ling admiration  of  her  courage ;  and  finally  said  she  was  a 
fine  lass,  and  must  have  something  better  than  English  blood 
in  her  veins.  Indeed,  she  seemed  inclined  to  check  overfa- 
miliarity  on  the  part  of  Mr  Drummond's  own  sister  and  niece. 
The  master  of  the  house  was  the  master  of  the  house. 

One  evening  he  had  just  got  home  from  the  shooting,  and 
had  been  stopped  at  the  door  by  his  sister,  who  had  called 
attention  to  the  singular  light  shining  across  the  sea.  The 
sky  was  covered  over  with  thick  purple  masses  of  thunder- 
ous clouds — almost  black  they  were,  indeed,  except  where 
one  bold  slit  showed  a  glimpse  of  the  high  sunny  green  of  the 
sunset ;  while  underneath  this  heavy  and  ominous  sky  a  great 
flood  of  yellow  light  came  over  from  the  west,  causing  the 
masts  of  one  or  two  yachts  to  gleam  like  silver  against  the 
black  clouds. 

"  Why,  here  comes  Violet  up  the  road  !  She  has  been  down 
persuading  Mr.  Morrison  to  give  us  a  piece  of  beef  for  to- 
morrow. He  won't  listen  to  any  body  but  her.  If  it  wasn't 
for  her,  we  should  have  nothing  but  mutton  from  one  week's 
end  to  the  other." 

The  girl  was  coming  along  the  valley  at  a  good  pace. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  rather  absently, 
"  that  it  is  a  happiness  to  me — a  positive  delight — merely  to 
see  that  girl  walk  ?  The  proud  gracefulness  of  her  figure,  the 
freedom  of  her  step — it  gives  one  a  sense  of  her  having  per- 
fect symmetry  of  form  and  splendid  health — " 

*'  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  without  her,  now  we  have 
got  so  well  accustomed  to  her,"  said  his  sister,  ruefully. 


AREA. 


^12> 


"Ah,  yes,  of  course,"  he  said,  with  an  effort  to  look  brisk 
and  matter-of-fact ;  "  of  course  she  will  go  ;  that  is  but  natural 
— the  young  bird  flies  from  its  nest  as  soon  as  it  has  wings. 
Well,  Violet  has  made  our  little  place  brighter  since  she  has 
been  with  us." 

His  sister  stood  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said,  "  I  can  not  make  up  my  mind  about 
that  young  man.  Sometimes  I  like  him ;  sometimes  I  hate 
him.  If  we  could  only  look  ahead  a  few  years,  we  should 
know  better  what  to  do — " 

"You  forget,  Sarah,"  said  her  brother,  somewhat  stiffly, 
"  that  neither  you  nor  I  have  anything  to  do  with  that  matter. 
Why  should  you  talk  as  if  you  were  responsible  1  The  girl 
is  old  enough  to  judge  for  herself." 

"  If  you  loved  Violet  as  I  do,  you  would  be  more  anxious," 
said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  sigh ;  for  she  could  not  understand 
how  her  brother,  ordinarily  so  solicitous  about  the  welfare  of 
every  one  around  him,  should  betray  an  absolute  indifference 
as  to  such  an  important  question  as  Violet  North's  marriage. 

The  conversation  was  in  any  case  broken  up  by  the  girl 
herself,  who  came  up  through  the  steep  little  garden  with  a 
fine  flush  of  color  in  her  face,  and  with  gladness  in  her  dark 
eyes.  She  was  glad  to  have  secured  the  piece  of  beef ;  glad 
to  have  escaped  the  rain ;  glad  to  have  Mr.  Drummond's 
game-bag  to  explore.  These  were  sufficient  reasons  for  the 
bright  look  on  her  face  :  but,  indeed  Mrs.  Warrener  had  re- 
marked, ever  since  their  arrival  in  these  Highlands,  that  no 
especial  cause  was  needed  to  bring  that  happy  light  into 
Violet  North's  eyes  which  now  always  dwelt  there. 

"  Now,  Violet,"  she  said  putting  the  girl's  hand  within  her 
arm,  and  taking  her  off  for  a  little  walk  round  the  plateau 
(Mr.  Drummond  having  gone  into  the  house),  "  I  have  a 
secret  to  tell  you.  That  is,  we  thought  of  keeping  it  a  secret 
— to  give  you  a  surprise  ;  but  perhaps  it  is  fairer  I  should  tell 
you,     Mr.  Miller  arrives  to-morrow  evening." 

Violet  stopped  suddenly,  and  unconsciously  withdrew  her 
hand  from  her  friend's  arm. 

"  Why  should  that  be  a  surprise-^or  a  secret — for  me  ? " 
she  asked,  coldly. 

Mrs.  Warrener  smiled  in  her  gentle  way :  the  pretence  of 
indifference  on  the  part  of  those  girls  about  their  lovers  was 
charming. 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  friend  of  yours,  Violet,"  she  said,  with 
demure  sarcasm. 

"  I  hope  it  is  as  a  friend  of  your  own  that  you  have  asked 


174  '  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

him  to  your  house,"  responded  the  girl.  "  I  should  have  said 
that  we  were  happy  enough  without  him." 

This  was  a  little  too  much. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Violet,  you  will  not  be  pleased  to  see 
him  ?  "  her  friend  asked  ;  but  the  question  was  hardly  a  serious 
one. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him — as  I  should  be  to 
see  any  other  friend,"  answered  Miss  Violet,  with  the  same 
proud  indifference.  "  But — but  I  thought  we  were  comfort- 
able enough  without  visitors — and  I  hope  it  is  not  on  my  ac- 
count that  you  have  asked  Mr.  Miller  to  come  here." 

Her  cheeks  began  to  turn  red,  and  it  was  clear  that  aifec- 
tation  of  indifference  was  rapidly  going. 

"  I  scarcely  think  it  is  fair,"  she  was  beginning  io  say,  in 
quicker  accents,  when  Mrs.  Warrener  gently  stopped  her. 

*'  Don't  be  vexed,  Violet.  Of  course,  a  girl  does  not  like  to 
have  her  private  feelings  known,  or  even  guessed  at,  Avhere  a 
gentleman  is  concerned  ;  and  I  must  tell  you  at  once  that 
Mr.  Miller  would  have  come  to  see  us  whether  you  had  been 
here  or  not.  He  was  asked  to  come  a  long  time  ago.  He  is 
very  fond  of  shooting  and  yachting  ;  but  as  there  was  no 
shooting  worth  speaking  of,  James  thought  he  had  better  wait 
till  now,  and  go  with  us  in  the  Sea-Pyot — " 

"  Oh,  he  is  going,  is  he  ?  "  said  Violet,  quickly. 

"  Yes  ;  so  I  believe.  You  know  there  is  plenty  of  room  in 
that  big  boat." 

Nothing  more  was  said  at  the  moment.  Violet  made  some 
excuse,  and  went  in-doors.  There  she  got  hold  of  Amy 
Warrener,  and  asked  that  young  lady  to  come  into  her  room 
for  a  minute.     She  shut  the  door,  and  sat  down. 

"  It's  all  over  now,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  all  over  now,  Violet  ? " 

Her  hands  were  folded  in  her  lap  ;  her  eyes  fixed  idly  on 
them.  "All  the  pleasant  time  we  have  been  spending  up 
here  :  it  seems  a  long  time,  and  yet  it  has  passed  quickly. 
Good-bye  to  it ;  I  shall  never  forget  it — never  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Violet  ?  " 

"  A  stranger  is  coming  to-morrow,  and  everything  will  be 
different." 

"  A  stranger  !     Do  you  call  Mr.  Miller  a  stranger  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  knew  about  it,  too  ?  "  said  Miss  Violet,  raising 
her  eyes  quickly.     "  Why  was  it  all  kept  secret  from  me  ?  " 

"  Why?"  said  the  younger  girl,  with  some  embarrassment. 
"  I  suppose  mamma  fancied  you  would  not  care  to  have 
such  things  spoken  about." 


AREA.  175 

"  What  things  ?  "  she  demanded,  ahnost  fiercely. 

Her  young  companion  was  gentle  enough  ;  but  even  she 
could  be  goaded. 

"  You  know  quite  well  you  are  engaged  to  him,  Violet ;  and 
what  is  the  use  of  making  a  mystery  about  it .'' "  she  said, 
sharply. 

"  I  know  quite  well  I  am  nothing  of  the  sort ;  I  know  quite 
well  I  shall  never  be  engaged  to  him — never  !  "  said  the  girl, 
vehemently.     "  Engaged  to  him  ?     I  wish  he  was  dead  !  " 

"  Oh,  Violet !  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  exactly  wish  that,"  she  said,  with  some 
compunction,  "  but  I  really  cannot  bear  to  have  it  supposed 
we  are  engaged,  or  likely  to  be  ;  and  what  will  his  coming 
here  do  but  make  discomfort  and  misery  ?  Haven't  we  been 
happy  enough  by  ourselves  ? — we  don't  want  any  body  else. 
And  then  it  appears  he  is  to  go  with  us  in  the  Sea-Pyot. 
Well,  if  he  goes  in  the  Sea-Pyot^  I  know  somebody  who  won't ; 
and  the  initials  of  her  name,  as  the  Irishman  said,  are  Violet 
North." 

This  was  uttered  with  considerable  decision.  Now,  Amy 
Warrener,  young  as  she  was,  had  a  good  deal  of  her  mother's 
shrewd  and  quiet  common  sense ;  and  instead  of  fighting  this 
determination  by  any  argument  or  appeal,  she  only  said, 

*' It  won't  look  very  friendly,  Violet,  if  you  alone  refuse  to 
go  with  us ;  and  Mr.  Miller,  as  a  stranger  and  visitor,  is  en- 
titled to  whatever  courtesy  we  can  show  him.  It  isn't  his 
fault  it  you  don't  like  him.  Then,  you  didn't  always  appear 
to  dislike  him  so  much — I  thought  it  was  quite  the  other  way 
at  one  time  :  and  now  if  you  treat  him  badly,  he  will  think 
you  are  only  acting  the  coquette,  and  wanting  to  show  your 
independence. ' 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  thinks,"  she  said,  with  her  cheeks 
hot,  but  looking  down. 

"  Others  will  think  the  same." 

"  Who  ?  "  And  again  she  looked  up  with  a  quick  surprise 
and  inquiry  in  her  glance. 

"  All  of  us." 

"  You — will — all — think — that — I — am — a — coquette,"  she 
said,  slowly. 

"  Well,"  said  her  friend,  doubtfully,  "  you  know  you  en- 
couraged him  a  great  deal." 

"  And  to  save  myself  from  that  reproach,"  she  continued, 
quite  as  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  "  to  keep  your  good  opin- 
ion, I  must  marry  Mr.  George  Miller  1 " 

There  was  no  answer  to  that  question. 


176  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

SETTING   OUT. 

Mr.  George  Miller  arrived  in  due  course  ;  and  very  hand- 
some the  young  fellow  looked,  as  he  stepped  ashore  from  (he 
.  steamer  to  shake  hands  with  his  friends  on  the  quay.  Vio- 
let had  been  persuaded  to  accompany  the  others;  and  she 
could  not  help  greeting  him  with  a  pleasant  smile ;  indeed, 
there  was  something  in  this  sudden  meeting  that  recalled 
other  days.  With  great  prudence,  too,  he  forbore  to  express 
any  special  pleasure  in  seeing  her  again.  She  was  only  one 
of  the  little  group  of  friends.  He  addressed  himself  almost 
exclusively  to  Mrs.  Warrener,  as  they  proceeded  to  find  their 
way  up  to  Castle  Bandbox. 

Nor,  on  this  first  evening,  were  any  of  Violet's  predictions 
fulfilled.  All  the  happy  old  time  had  not  completely  gone, 
riiey  were  quite  as  joyous  and  homely  as  ever ;  and  a  certain 
discursive  orator  had  as  large  a  share  of  that  talk  which  could 
only  bycourtesy  be  called  conversation  ;  that  is,  nobody  else 
had  a  share.  Mr.  Miller  laughed  and  enjo3'ed  himself  with 
the  rest ;  he  did  not  embarrass  Violet  with  the  least  specialty 
of  attention  ;  his  whole  interest  was  apparently  absorbed  in 
his  chances  of  getting  a  shot  or  two  before  starting  in  the 
yacht,  and  in  the  prospects  held  out  by  the  Sea-Pyot  of  a  com- 
fortable voyage.     All  was  so  far  well. 

It  was  only  by  degrees,  and  that  almost  imperceptibly,  that 
his  influence  in  this  small  household  began  to  tell.  He  was 
a  young  man  of  system,  of  minute  observation,  of  careful, 
business-like  provision,  and  could  not  understand  at  all  the 
happy-go-lucky  carelessness  which  marked  most  of  Mr.  Drum- 
mond's  arrangements.  With  him  a  nine- o'clock  breakfast 
meant  a  nine-o'clock  breakfast ;  not  a  breakfast  at  ten,  or 
half-past  nine,  or  a  quarter-past  eight,  as  chance  might  dic- 
tate. For  the  first  time  his  friends  perceived  that  the  pattern 
of  the  wall-paper  was  rather  ludicrous,  and  that  a  defect  in  the 
frame-work  of  the  window  produced  a  draught.  They  were 
ashamed  to  confess  they  could  not  tell  him  whether  the  local 
whisky  was  under  or  over  proof ;  indeed,  none  of  them  knew 
exactly  what  proof  meant.  There  was  now  no  vague  loiter- 
ing on  the  hills  for  the  contemplation  of  landscape,  nor  need- 
less waste  of  time  over  luncheon  :  the  ground  that  had  to  be 
got  over  was  got  over  in  a  proper  fashion.  Moreover,  there 
was  much  less  missing  now.     The  young  man  showed  him- 


SETTING  OUT.  177 

self  an  excellent  shot,  and  there  was  no  amount  of  fatigue  or 
discomfort  which  he  would  indolently  shirk  if  he  believed  there 
was  a  chance  of  getting  a  single  bird.  Old  Peter  had  enough 
of  it  now :  he  was  pretty  nearly  walked  off  his  legs  by  this 
new  pupil ;  while  his  former  pupil  ignominiously  gave  up  the 
chase,  lighted  a  pipe,  stretched  himself  on  the  heather,  where 
he  could  command  a  view  of  Morven,  Mull,  and  Lism.ore,  and 
told  his  companions  to  come  back  that  way  for  him  when  they 
chose. 

Moreover,  the  incorrigible  carelessness  of  the  head  of  the 
house  became  all  the  more  apparent,  for  his  accoutrements 
now  lacked  much  of  Violet's  superintendence.  She  had  been 
accustomed  to  come  down  early — before  any  of  the  others — 
to  look  after  his  cartridge-bag,  his  boots,  leggings,  and  what 
not ;  but  now  she  never  appeared  till  breakfast  was  announced, 
and  then  she  invariably  came  down-stairs  with  Amy.  They 
generally  found  Mr.  Miller  impatiently  pacing  up  and  down 
in  front  of  the  house,  and  looking  at  his  watch  every  third 
minute. 

They  had  beautiful  moonlight  nights  at  this  time ;  and  they 
were  accustomed  to  go  out  for  a  stroll  after  dinner,  either  up 
into  the  black  hills,  where  the  wan  and  mystic  light  was  palely 
shining  on  the  furze  and  rocks,  or  down  to  the  shore,  where 
the  long,  monotonous  rush  of  the  waves  on  the  coast  alone 
disturbed  the  profound  and  mysterious  silence.  Here,  too, 
there  was  a  great  difference.  The  party  was  broken  some- 
how. Violet  resolutely  and  invariably  walked  with  Amy  War- 
rener,  chatting,  when  they  did  chat,  about  school-girl  themes  ; 
Mrs.  Warrener  generally  stayed  with  them  ;  Mr.  Drummond 
and  his  guest  led  the  way,  the  latter  giving  all  the  latest  in- 
formation about  big-company  swindles,  stock-exchange  trans- 
action the  cooking  at  the  Judaeum,  and  so  forth. 

"Why  do  you  never  talk  to  Mr.  Miller,  Violet.^"  Amy 
Warrener  asked  one  night. 

"  I  don't  understand  politics ;  and  I  don't  care  about  com- 
mercial matters,"  replied  the  young  lady,  evasively. 

"  I  don't  mean  that  at  all,"  her  friend  said.  "  Why  do  you 
scarcely  ever  address  a  word  to  him,  even  at  dinner  ? " 

"Good  little  girls  should  be  seen,  and  not  heard.  I  speak 
when  I  am  spoken  to,"  was  the  reply. 

It  was  very  clear  that  Violet  did  not  at  all  care  for  the 
presence  of  Mr.  Miller  in  Castle  Bandbox.  She  seemed  re- 
strained and  dispirited.  A  sort  of  indefinite  apprehension 
appeared  to  hang  over  her,  which  Mrs.  Warrener  did  not 
fail  to  notice. 


178  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Now,  Mr.  Miller,  from  the  moment  of  his  arrival  in  the 
Highlands,  had  been  most  considerate  to  the  girl,  and,  what- 
ever he  might  judge  to  be  her  feelings  toward  him,  he  had 
not  sought  to  intrude  himself  upon  her  in  the  slightest  degree. 
But,  after  all,  a  young  man  is  but  a  young  man  ;  and  he  grew 
to  think  that,  considering  their  past  and  present  relations, 
she  was  dealing  very  harshly  with  him  in  so  obviously  and 
systematically  avoiding  any  private  conversation  with  him. 
His  difficulty  was  to  find  an  opportunity  of  speaking  with  her 
alone  ;  and  it  almost  appeared  as  if  she  recognized  the  fact, 
and  was  determined  to  outwit  him. 

At  last  he  caught  her.  She  had  inconsiderately  ventured 
down  to  breakfast  without  her  ordinary  companion,  under 
the  impression  that  Mrs.  Warrener  had  preceded  her.  When 
she  opened  the  ddor  of  the  room  and  saw  Mr.  Miller  there 
alone,  she  would  have  retreated,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  for  a  second." 

She  knew  what  was  coming  :  she  advanced  into  the  room, 
outwardly  calm,  but  inwardly  full  of  dread.  She  was  vaguely 
aware  that  his  face  was  pale. 

"  Have  I  offended  you  1 " 

"  No." 

She  spoke  in  so  low  a  voice  that  he  could  hardly  hear. 

"  Why  do  you  avoid  me  so  ?  Why  won't  you  speak  to 
me  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  not  persecuted  you,  ever  since  you 
seemed  to  wish  to  be  left  free.  Haven't  I  done  every  thing 
you  could  wish  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  she  answered,  with  a  trifle  more  em- 
phasis. 

*'  Then  why  do  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were  an  enemy — as  if 
you  were  afraid  of  me  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  I  hope  I  don't  do  that,"  she  said  ;  but  her  eyes  were 
still  fixed  on  the  ground. 

For  a  second  or  two  she  stood  irresolute,  and  then  she 
seemed  to  summon  up  her  courage  to  speak  frankly. 

"And  if  I  am  afraid  of  you,  in  however  slight  a  degree," 
she  said,  in  clear,  low  tones,  "  I  have  myself  to  blame.  I  am 
deeply  to  blame — I  know  that.  I — I  wish  I  had  never  seen 
you,  nor  you  me  ;  that  would  have  been  better  for  both  of 
us." 

"No,  no,  Violet,"  he  said,  kindly,  and  he  came  a  step 
nearer  ;  "  that  is  what  every  girl  says — natural  timidity,  you 
know :  she  doesn't  know  what  is  before  her,  and  is  afraid. 


SETTING  OUT  179 

For  my  part,  I  am  very  glad  we  have  met,  whatever  comes  of 
it ;  and  if  you  would  only  give  me  a  chance,  I  should  soon 
cure  your  mind  of  all  that  apprehension.  But  how  can  I  do 
that  if  you  always  avoid  me  ?  Don't  you  think  it  is  hardly 
fair  ?     Would  you  treat  any  other  friend  of  yours  like  that  ? " 

"  Oh,  if  I  were  only  sure,"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  despair- 
ing earnestness,  "that  we  were  friends,  and  only  friends,  how 
glad  I  should  be  to  do  all  you  wish !  Believe  that  of  me, 
anyway.  If  you  would  only  let  me  think  that — if  you  were 
satisfied  with  that — I  should  be  so  grateful  to  you  !  Will  you  t " 

She  was  looking  at  him  now,  with  her  eyes  full  of  entreaty. 
He,  on  the  other  hand,  appeared  to  be  wholly  astounded. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  you  have  hinted  this  once  or 
twice  before.  Do  you  really  mean  it  t  Do  you  wish  me  to 
abandon  all  hope  of  our  being  any  thing  to  each  other  ? " 

It  was  precisely  what  she  did  wish ;  but  there  was  a  re- 
proach in  his  tone  which  she  felt  keenly  ;  and  for  the  sake  of 
old  times  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  wound  him  too 
cruelly. 

"No,  not  altogether,"  she  said,  quickly.  "We  need  not 
become  strangers ;  we  might  always  remain  friends.  If  I 
could  only  persuade  you  not  to  think  of  any  thing  else  !  " 

He  was  deeply  mortified,  of  course  ;  and  yet  he  could  not 
quite  believe  her.  Her  liking  for  him  had  been  declared 
years  ago.  There  was  no  obstacle,  that  he  could  see,  to  the 
marriage.     He  had  not  even  a  rival. 

At  this  moment  steps  were  heard  on  the  stairs.  He  seized 
her  hand  for  a  second,  and  said,  rapidly, 

"  Don't  make  this  final,  Violet.  There  is  some  misunder- 
standing.    You  must  let  me  hope."  ' 

She  did  not  answer  as  she  left  the  room ;  but  there  was 
that  in-her  face  that  rendered  him  somewhat  uneasy.  Was 
it  true,  then,  that  her  aversion  from  all  thought  of  marriage 
with  him  was  something  more  than  mere  girlish  timidity? 
Was  it  true  that  she  really  wished  him  to  abandon  all  hope  of 
securing  her  for  his  wife  .^ 

He  put  on  his  cap  and  went  out  into  the  fresh  morning  air; 
he  wished  to  be  alone  for  a  few  minutes,  for  there  was  some- 
thing about  all  this  that  he  could  not  well  understand.  Again 
and  again,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  bit  of  gravel,  he 
tried  to  account  for  Violet's  change  of  feeling  toward  him— 
or,  at  least,  for  her  change  of  intention  ;  and  he  could  see  no 
reasonable  explanation.  At  this  moment  he  heard  Mr. 
Drummond  inside  calling  "  Violet !  Violet !  "  A  wild  fancy 
struck  him. 


i8o  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Was  it  true  that  he  had  no  rival  ?  Could  it  be  possible 
that  the  girl  had  let  her  declared  admiration — her  worship, 
almost — of  this  man  of  eight-and-thirty  run  into  a  more  pas- 
sionate feeling  ?  The  mere  suspicion  sent  a  flash  of  fire  ting- 
ling through  his  heart;  and  he  found  himself  rapidly  run- 
ning over  a  series  of  incidents,  unnoticed  at  the  time,  which 
now  appeared  to  give  at  least  plausibility  to  this  random  con- 
jecture. 

In  the  most  commonplace  of  natures  there  is  always  enough 
of  imagination  to  fan  the  fires  of  jealousy.  The  relations 
existing  between  Mr.  Drummond  and  his  girlish  pupil  now 
assumed  a  wholly  different  complexion.  In  his  first  flush  of 
anger  and  surprise  and  envy,  the  young  man  was  ready  to 
accuse  his  friend  of  having  inveigled  Sir  Acton  North's 
daughter  into  his  house  that  he  might  marry  an  heiress.' 

But,  after  all,  Mr.  Miller  was  a  sensible  and  prudent  young 
fellow.  He  reasoned  with  himself.  Was  it  likely  that  this 
gay-hearted,  handsome  girl,  rejoicing  in  all  the  boundless 
hopes  and  activities  of  youth,  should  give  away  her  life  to  a 
moping,  dreaming,  middle-aged  man,  who  had  just  enough 
money  to  keep  a  moderately  decent  coat  on  his  back  t  She 
was  very  fond  of  him — as  his  niece  was.  She  had  a  profound 
admiration  for  him — as  his  sister  had.  Mr.  Miller  reasoned 
himself  out  of  his  first  glow  of  belief  and  anger ;  but  he  went 
in  to  breakfast  in  a  somewhat  sullen  and  suspicious  mood. 

Now,  indeed,  the  smallest  trifles  were  magnified  in  the 
young  man's  alarmed  imagination.  He  noticed  how  she 
brought  the  newspaper  and  placed  it  beside  a  certain  cup. 
He  felt  sure  that  she  had  been  out  to  bring  in  the  fresh  bell- 
heather,  ferns,  marigolds,  and  fuchsias  for  the  table.  When 
all  had  sat  down  to  breakfast,  he  observed  that  Mr.  Drum- 
mond addressed  most  of  his  chance  remarks  to  her ;  and  that 
she  invariably  looked  up  with  a  bright  glance  of  gratitude 
when  he  did  so. 

A  sufficiently  trifling  incident  occurred.  Mr.  Drummond, 
like  most  rather  shy  and  sensitive  folks,  had  a  nervous  dis- 
like to  being  watched  by  furtive  glances,  especially  at  meal- 
times. He  would  infinitely  have  preferred  to  go  without 
mustard,  or  butter,  or  any  thing  of  that  sort,  rather  than  be 
reminded  that  some  one  was  continually  observing  his  plate. 
Now,  on  this  occasion  he  happened  to  look  up,  and  finding 
his  sister's  eyes  fixed  curiously  on  him,  he  called  out, 

"  On  my  solemn  word  of  honor,  Sarah,  1  am  only  going  to 
eat  an  ^gg.     Is  there  any  thing  awful  in  that  ?  '' 


SETTING  OUT.  i8i 

His  sister  looked  shocked  and  offended  ;  whereupon  he  con- 
tinued, in  a  great  good-humor, 

"  I  declare  that  there  is  in  the  world  only  one  human  being 
wdth  whom  it  is  comfortable  to  have  breakfast — who  leaves 
you  alone  to  struggle  with  your  fish-bones — who  never  turns 
her  eyes  upon  you  except  when  she  speaks  to  you  :  who  is 
it  ?     Do  you  all  give  it  up  ?  " 

"  It  is  Violet,  of  course,  uncle,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  with  a 
laugh.     "  Violet  is  always  right." 

Now  surely  there  was  not  much  in  complimenting  a  girl  for 
minding  her  own  plate  at  a  breakfast-table  ;  but,  all  the  same, 
the  young  man  looked  upon  the  innocent  exclamation  of 
Violet's  school-fellow  as  only  confirming  some  of  his  gloom- 
iest suspicions.  But  he  would  observe  still  before  speaking 
or  acting. 

Meanwhile  there  was  a  great  bustle  convulsing  the  ordinary 
quiet  of  Castle  Bandbox,  in  the  midst  of  which  no  one  had 
time  to  notice  how  Violet  treated  her  former  lover.  Every 
one  was  preparing  for  the  approaching  voyage  in  the  Sea- 
Pyot ;  Mr.  Drummond  making  the  wildest  suggestions  about 
potted  meats,  condensed  milk,  and  baskets  of  soda-water ; 
Mrs.  Warrener  making  more  sober  calculations  about  the 
necessary  stores  for  a  week's  cruise  ;  the  girls  anxious  about 
water-proofs  and  thick  shoes ;  and  Mr.  George  Miller,  with 
great  care  and  accuracy  of  method,  getting  his  fishing-tackle 
into  order.  They  knew  they  were  about  to  play  at  keeping 
house,  just  like  so  many  children  ;  and  every  one  pretended 
to  know  a  vast  deal  about  those  very  things,  which,  in  serious 
living  on  land,  they  had  treated  with  indifference. 

The  Sea-Fyot,  which  they  cauld  now  distinguish  lying  at 
her  moorings  in  the  bay,  was  a  yawl  of  some  thirty-two  tons 
register  and  about  fifty  tons  yacht  measurement;  but  she 
was  an  exceedingly  roomy  and  comfortable  vessel,  consider- 
ing her  size.  She  had  a  fairly  commodious  ladies'  cabin,  a 
couple  of  state-rooms  for  single  gentlemen,  and  a  spacious 
saloon — no  less  than  twelve  feet  six  inches  in  beam.  Foi 
the  rest,  she  was  anything  but  a  quick  sailer  with  light 
winds  ;  but  she  could  stand  a  thoroughly  stiff  breeze  with 
absolute  safety,  and  then  she  could  do  her  nine  or  ten  knots 
an  hour.  She  was  worked  by  four  men  and  a  lad,  the  latter 
officiating  as  cook  and  steward. 

It  was  universally  resolved  that,  as  Miss  Violet  was  the 
most  experienced  voyager  of  the  party,  she  should  go  on 
board  and  overhaul  the  table-linen,  locker  accommodation, 
bedding,  permanent  stores  and  the  like ;  and  this  commission 


l82  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

was  gladly  accepted,  while  stipulating  that  the  others  should 
accompany  her.  It  was  with  the  eager  excitement  of  a  party 
of  discovery  that  they  entered  the  gig  which  had  been  sent 
on  shore  for  them,  and  were  pulled  out  to  the  yacht.  The 
skipper — a  handsome,  good-humored-looking  man  of  thirty- 
five  or  so,  with  a  sun-tanned  face  and  a  light-yellow  beard, 
who  was  an  old  friend  and  ally  of  Mr.  Drunmiond's — received 
them  with  much  ceremonious  dignity  at  the  gangway,  and, 
in  showing  them  over  his  ship,  seemed  particularly  anxious 
to  gratify  the  tall  young  lady,  who  was  continually  asking 
him  abrupt  and  business-like  questions.  She  was  graciously 
pleased  to  express  her  approval  of  the  whiteness  of  the  decks, 
the  spaciousness  of  the  saloon,  and  the  painting  of  the  sky- 
lights, but  she  was  of  opinion  that  the  small  state-room  next 
the  forecastle  ought  to  have  been  a  pantry,  and  she  gently 
but  firmly  remonstrated  with  Captain  Jimmy  for  not  having  a 
swinging-table  in  the  lower  cabin. 

"  That  is  true,  mem,"  said  the  yellow-bearded  skipper,  with 
just  a  trace  of  Highland  accent,  "  I  hef  often  said  that  to 
Mr.  Sinclair,  and  it  will  only  cost  five  pounds  the  more." 

*'  Come,  Violet,  it  isn't  fair  to  look  a  gift  horse  in  the 
mouth.  You  ought  to  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  Mr.  Sinclair," 
said  Mr.  Drummond. 

"  So  I  am,"  she  said,  doubtfully ;  *'  but  suppose  she  is  lying 
well  over  from  the  wind,  how  are  we  to  get  any  thing  to  eat 
and  drink  ? " 

"  Hold  on  to  your  glass,  and  make  the  plates  steady  each 
other." 

"  Then  suppose  we  are  beating  up  to  windward,  every  time 
she  is  put  about  every  thing  will  go  flying  across  to  the  other 
side." 

"Well,  the  other  people  on  the  other  side  can  catch  them." 

"  In  their  lap  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

However,  there  were  no  great  fears  on  that  score,  and  the 
party  returned  home,  only  regretting  that  a  night  must  inter- 
vene before  starting.  A  great  joy  of  expectation,  indeed, 
prevailed  through  Castle  Bandbox  that  evening,  for  the  talk 
was  all  of  the  wonderful  places  they  would  see,  and  of  the 
wonderful  adventures  they  would  meet,  and  no  one  had  any 
suspicion  they  were  taking  a  Jonah  on  board. 


RAIN,   WIND,  AND  SPEED.  183 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

"rain,   wind,   and   speed." 

Fierce  and  glad  was  the  weather  in  which  the  Sea-Pyot 
spread  out  her  great  white  wings  and  prepared  for  her  north- 
ward flight.  From  over  the  tumbling  Atlantic  came  varying 
gusts  and  squalls ;  the  main-boom  swung  this  way  and  that, 
and  the  loud  flapping  of  the  sails  drowned  the  clanking  of 
the  windlass  ;  rushing  by  went  the  huge  green  waves  to  the 
shore  ;  and  the  hurrying  clouds,  as  they  came  sweeping  over 
from  the  sea — causing  the  islands  to  disappear,  and  re-ap- 
pear, and  disappear  again — sent  sudden  showers  across  the 
vessel's  decks,  and  made  the  voyagers  tighten  up  still  farther 
the  necks  of  their  water-proofs.  Above  and  below  the  same 
confusion  and  bustle  prevailed :  nobody  knew  whether  the 
fresh  butter  had  been  called  for  and  brought  aboard ;  excited 
questions  were  asked  about  the  joints  hung  at  the  stern ;  and 
the  voice  of  one  tall  person  was  heard  declaring,  in  the  most 
solemn  language,  that  he  would  blowup  the  powder-maga- 
zine, destroy  the  bulkheads,  and  lash  the  taffrail  to  the  top- 
gallant-mast, if  somebody  did  not  help  him  to  stow  away  the 
bottled  beer.  Then  there  was  a  sudden  cessation  of  noise 
overhead.  Gradually  the  saloon  tilted  over,  and  there  was  a 
muflled  sound  as  of  rushing  water  outside.  When  the  person 
who  had  been  stowing  away  the  beer  put  his  head,  which  was 
adorned  by  a  huge  sou'-wester,  up  the  companion-way  and 
looked  around,  behold  !  the  Sea-Pyot  was  running  gallantly 
out  to  sea,  the  tack  of  her  mainsail  still  hauled  up,  and  Cap- 
tain Jimmy,  with  the  rain  running  down  his  ruddy  face,  ob- 
served to  a  young  lady  who  stood  beside  him  that  he  could 
not  as  yet  relinquish  to  her  the  tiller. 

"  This  is  a  nice  sort  of  day  to  start  in  ! "  observed  a  young 
man,  who  was  gloomily  trying  to  keep  the  rain  from  getting 
inside  the  neck  of  his  water-proof. 

"  What  better  could  you  wish  for  ?  "  she  answered,  with  a 
bright  laugh.     "  How  fast  is  she  going,  Captain  Jimmy  ?  " 

The  skipper  glanced  at  the  water  running  by. 

"  About  echt  knots,  I  think ;  but  we'll  get  a  bit  more  wind 
by-and-by,  when  we  get  round  Lismore." 

"  Couldn't  you  let  us  have  the  topsail  up  ?  "  she  asked, 
throwing  a  critical  glance  upward. 

A  shrewd,  cautious  smile  appeared  on  Captain  Jimmy's 
face. 


l84  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

*'  She'll  go  ferry  well  without  the  topsail  in  a  little  while  ; 
and  it  iss  better  not  to  be  too  eager.  You  will  get  plenty  of 
sailing  when  we  will  be  going  up  the  Sound," 

And  indeed  there  was  a  good  deal  of  sailing  when  once 
they  had  got  round  the  light-house  of  Lismore  and  were 
beating  up  the  Sound  of  Mull.  A  heavy  sea  was  rolling 
down  the  Sound ;  the  wind  freshened  further  until  it  dipped 
the  bulwarks  of  the  Sea-Pyot  in  the  rushing  waves  ;  and 
the  voyagers,  sitting  on  deck-stools  up  to  the  windward,  had 
to  hold  on  by  such  objects  as  were  handy  to  prevent  their 
suddenly  rolling  down  the  slippery  decks.  Where  were  the 
mighty  mountains  of  Mull  and  of  Morven  that  they  had 
gazed  at  from  afar  on  many  a  still  summer  morning  ?  The 
voyagers  were  close  to  them — running  up  the  channel  that 
divides  them,  in  fact — but  all  that  could  be  seen  were  but 
dim  and  vague  shadows  behind  the  cold  gray  curtains  of  the 
mist.  Water  and  sky  seemed  one  ;  the  gusts  of  wind  were 
also  gusts  of  rain ;  the  sea-swallows  that  flashed  about, 
dipping,  darting,  and  uttering  shrill  cries,  seemed  but  as 
ghosts  in  the  aqueous  vapor.  And  yet  the  voyagers  appeared 
so  little  disconcerted  by  the  weather  they  were  encountering 
that  their  mirth  grew  wilder  as  the  wind  blew  more  fiercely  ; 
and  the  seas  that  came  thundering  on  the  bows  of  the  yacht, 
and  sending  showers  of  spray  right  over  the  crouching  figures, 
were  only  met  by  derisive  shouts  of  laughter.  Only  one 'of 
these  figures  remained  silent  and  sullen.  Mr.  George  Miller 
did  not  seem  to  enter  much  into  the  sport.  It  was  the  private 
notion  of  at  least  one  of  his  companions  that  the  plunging  of 
the  Sea-Pyot  among  the  waves  was  rendering  the  young  man 
uncomfortable ;  but  such  was  not  the  fact.  Neither  the 
motion  of  the  vessel,  nor  the  fierce  rain,  nor  the  numbing 
position  in  which  he  was  compelled  to  sit,  was  responsible  for 
the  preoccupation  of  Violet's  suitor.  He  had,  indeed,  other 
things  to  think  about. 

Yet  surely,  on  board  a  yacht,  in  such  weather,  there  could 
be  little  to  increase  his  suspicions.  It  is  true  that  both  Mr, 
Drummond  and  Violet  were  obviously  enjoying  themselves  ; 
that  generally  Mr.  Drummond  addressed  to  her  his  profound 
impressions  of  life  on  board  the  Sea-Pyot ;  and  that,  indeed, 
both  of  them  seemed  bent  on  amusing  themselves  just  as  if 
they  were  a  couple  of  children.  And  then,  when  Violet  went 
below  to  see  that  the  lad  Duncan  was  properly  laying  the 
cloth  for  luncheon,  and  to  assist  him  in  ferreting  out  the  secrets 
of  the  lockers,  no  one  volunteered  to  help  her  but  Mr. 
Drummond,  simply  because  he  had  stowed  most  of  the  things 


RAIN,   WIND,  AND  SPEED.  185 

away,  and  that  in  a  fashion  which  no  one  else  could  under- 
stand. 

That  luncheon  was  rather  a  desperate  business — as  Miss 
Violet  had  predicted  on  her  round  of  inspection.  They  were 
beating  up  the  Sound,  with  a  short  starboard  tack  and  a  long 
larboard  tack ;  and  as  the  latter  offered  more  continued  quiet, 
while  the  vessel  did  not  heel  over  quite  so  much,  it  was  re- 
solved that  they  should  drop  below  as  soon  as  the  Sea-Pyot 
had  her  larboard  tack  aboard.  Mr.  Miller  would  remain  on 
deck — he  was  not  hungry.  And  very  soon  he  heard,  through 
the  sky-light  of  the  saloon,  amazing  shouts  of  despair  and 
shrieks  of  laughter,  with  now  and  again  an  ominous  jingle  of 
falling  plates  and  spoons.  In  fact,  the  scene  below  was  at 
first  nothing  but  a  wild  scramble ;  for  no  sooner  had  the  plates 
been  got  out  from  the  locker  and  spread  on  the  table  than 
they  immediately  began  to  slide  down  to  leeward,  a  stately 
procession  which  was  joined  by  the  ham,  by  a  cold  pie,  and 
two  decanters.  Of  course,  there  was  a  wild  clutching  at  this 
object  and  that,  all  being  secured  except  the  cruet-stand,  which 
had  outstripped  its  companions  in  the  race,  and  flung  itself 
headlong — mustard,  vinegar,  and  all — into  Miss  Amy's  lap, 
who  was  not  prepared  for  the  charge,  for  she  was  clinging  on 
to  the  bread-plate.  When  she  had  wrathfully  retired  to  change 
her  clothes,  and  come  back  again  to  resume  her  place,  order 
had  been  restored  by  a  skillful  arrangement  of  objects,  and 
luncheon  was  allowed  to  proceed. 

Alas !  the  time  lost  could  not  be  recovered ;  and  just  as 
they  were  beginning  to  consider  that  life  on  board  a  yacht 
had  its  compensations,  there  was  an  ominous  call  above, 
"  Ready  about !  "  The  yacht  seemed  to  right  herself ;  the 
table  resumed  its  natural  level. 

"  They  are  putting  her  about,"  observed  Violet,  who  had 
picked  up  some  slight  knowledge  of  sailing  in  her  travels. 

But  she  failed  to  recollect  that  the  ingenious  arrangement 
of  objects  on  the  table  had  been  successful  with  one  side  of 
the  table  up  ;  now  that  side  went  down,  and  there  was  an- 
other wild  stampede  on  the  part  of  knives,  bottles,  dishes  and 
loaves,  in  the  opposite  direction.  Nay,  that  was  not  the 
worst.  In  the  midst  of  the  confused  seizure  of  these  things 
— with  Mrs.  Warrener  uttering  sharp  cries  of  w^arning — an 
awful  sound  was  heard  in  one  of  the  adjoining  state-rooms. 
Mr.  Drummond  looked  grave. 

"  You'd  better  go  and  see  what  it  is,  James,"  his  sister 
said,  keeping  firm  hold  of  the  pie  until  it  should  be  buttressed 
up. 


1 86  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

He  went,  and  came  back  with  a  serious  face. 

"  My  gun-case,"  he  observed,  cahnly,  "  has  fallen  on  the 
ewer ;  the  ewer  has  been  pitched  against  my  bed ;  the  bed 
is  swimming  with  water  ;  and  the  ewer  is  broken." 

"  Oh,  James  !  "  his  sister  said,  "  didn't  I  tell  you  to  put 
that  great  heavy  thing  on  the  floor,  or  in  the  bed  itself,  and 
not  on  a  shelf  }  " 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  he,  "  there  would  be  much  chance 
of  getting  the  blankets  dried  on  deck  ?  " 

The  question  was  not  so  foolish  as  it  looked,  for  when  they 
went  above  again,  they  found  that  the  rain  had  entirely  ceased, 
the  rain-clouds  were  withdrawing  up  the  hills,  and  the  great 
lonely  mountains  of  Mull  and  Morven  w^ere  being  slowly  re- 
vealed. What  a  desolate  coast  it  looked  in  this  sombre,  gray 
light !  The  dark  and  leaden  sea  broke  in  white  along  the 
gloomy  rocks  ;  gaunt  gray  precii^ices  here  and  there  led  up 
to  a  silent  wilderness  of  heather ;  and  across  the  bare  slopes 
of  the  hills  the  white  mists  moved  like  great  troops  of  ghosts 
— armies  that  met  and  parted,  that  met  and  mingled  together 
in  a  silent  strife — obeying  the  mysterious  behests  of  the  spir- 
its of  the  winds.  And  by-and-by  a  curious  and  suffused  light 
began  to  declare  itself  behind  these  moving  veils  of  mist; 
higher  slopes  of  the  mountains,  hitherto  unseen,  became  visi- 
ble in  a  ghostly  fashion;  the  glow  of  light  increased;  and 
then,  as  the  clouds  parted  and  passed  on,  the  bright  warm 
sunshine  sprung  down  in  their  wake,  and  the  mighty  hills 
shone  in  resplendent  greens  and  yellows.  The  decks  of  the 
Sea-Pyoi  soon  dried  up  ;  water-proofs  were  thrown  aside,  and 
now  the  rolling  waves  had  dashes  of  blue  in  them  where  they 
caught  the  color  of  the  opening  sky. 

"  That  is  the  way  with  this  coast,"  observed  Mr  Drummond, 
who  had  lighted  his  pipe,  and  contentedly  stretched  out  his 
legs  on  the  white  deck  ;  "'^  the  weather  changes  every  thirty 
minutes,  and  the  scenery  every  thirty  seconds.  Miller,  why 
don't  you  go  below  and  get  something  to  eat  .'*  " 

"  Thank  you.     By-and-by,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Shall  I  ga  down  and  get  some  things  out  for  you  "i  "  Vio- 
let suggested. 

This  was  a  kind  offer,  for  the  young  lady  had  been  intrusted 
with  the  tiller — under  the  superintendence  of  Captain  Jimmy, 
who  stood  hard  by — and  she  was  amusing  herself  with  vari- 
ous small  experiments  as  to  how  near  the  wind  Sea-Pyoi 
would  sail. 

"  Oh  no  ;  don't  you  trouble,"  he  answered. 

"  Here,  Captain  Jimmy,  take  the  rope,"  she  said.      "  My 


RAIiV,   Wn\D,  AND  SPEED.  187 

arms  can't  hold  out  any  longer.  Come  along,  Mr.  Miller; 
Duncan  and  I  will  get  you  something." 

He  could  not  very  well  refuse  so  friendly  a  proposal ;  and 
so  at  last  he  got  up,  threw  off  his  water-proof,  and  followed 
her  down  the  twisting  companion-stairs.  A  small  bell  sum- 
moned Duncan  into  the  saloon.  And  now  Mr.  Miller  found 
himself  the  object  of  those  very  attentions  which,  since  his 
arrival  in  the  Highlands,  he  had  observed  Violet  pay  to  Mr. 
Drummond.  She  played  the  part  of  handmaiden  to  perfec- 
tion ;  and  he  could  not  do  otherwise  than  appear  grateful  to 
her.  And  yet  he  was  dimly  conscious  that  her  manner  to- 
ward him  was  not  that  she  displayed  toward  Mr.  Drummond. 
She  was  solicitous  about  his  comfort,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  was 
with  a  friendly,  half-patronizing  solicitude  such  as  an  old 
campaigner,  if  bent  on  kindness,  might  show  to  an  inexperi- 
enced young  person  encountered  by  chance.  It  was  in  a  very 
different  way  that  she  treated  Mr.  Drummond.  With  him  she 
was  all  meekness  and  submission  ;  she  was  content  to  remain 
a  silent  listener  so  long  as  he  pleased  to  speak ;  such  little 
services  as  she  could  render  him  were  all  done  in  an  under- 
hand, unobtrusive  manner  as  if  she  would  rather  not  have 
them  noticed. 

"  Don't  you  wait  down  here,  Violet,"  said  he  ;  "  I  am  sure 
you  would  rather  be  up  on  deck," 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  carelessly ;  "  I  have  constituted  myself 
chief  cook  and  steward  on  board,  for  I  don't  think  Duncan 
is  up  to  much,  and  I  must  see  every  body  properly  fed.  As 
soon  as  you  have  finished,  I  want  the  table.  I  mean  to  sur- 
prise Mr.  Drummond  with  an  apricot-jam  pudding  at  dinner ; 
you  will  see  his  look  of  wonder  when  that  appears." 

"  I  should  have  thought  so  profound  a  philosopher  would 
not  have  cared  for  such  trifles,"  remarked  Mr.  Miller. 

"  It  is  because  he  is  a  philosopher,"  said  Violet,  warmly, 
"  that  he  cares  for  both  little  things  and  great  things." 

"  Including  apricot-jam." 

"I  don't  see  any  harm  in  any  one  liking  apricot-jam.  I 
like  it  myself — I  am  most  particularly  fond  of  it." 

"  Well,  of  course ;  you  show  yourself  a  most  docile  pupil 
all  day  long." 

She  took  no  notice  of  the  sneer  against  herself,  for  she 
was  bent  on  clearing  her  master  and  teacher  from  the  deadly 
charge  that  had  been  preferred  against  him. 

"If  there  is  any  body  in  the  world  that  puts  little  stors  by 
eating  and  drinking  and  such  things,  it  is  Mr.  Drummond. 
He  is  not  one  of  the  men  who  live  only  to  get  good  dinners 


i88  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

and  a  lot  of  money.  He  is  the  most  unworldly  and  unselfish 
man  I  have  ever  seen  or  heard  of." 

There  was  a  little  extra  color  in  her  face.  The  young 
man,  who  was  busy  with  the  cold  pie,  did  not  answer ;  per- 
haps he  was  afraid  of  saying  all  he  thought  just  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

Violet  rang  the  bell. 

"  Duncan,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Miller  has  finished,  will  you 
clear  the  table,  please  t  And  get  me  the  flour  and  things,  and 
an  empty  bottle,  if  you  haven't  a  roller.  When  will  the  men 
have  their  dinner } " 

Duncan  paused  for  a  minute  ;  his  English  was  not  fluent. 

"  I  think,  mem,  when  we  get  into  Loch  Sunart." 

"  Then  I  will  make  a  pudding  for  them  too  ;  and  you  can 
have  that  first,  for  we  sha'n't  want  dinner  till  seven." 

"  Very  well,  mem." 

"  Would  you  kindly  ring  the  bell  when  you  have  finished  ?  " 
she  asked,  somewhat  coldly,  of  Mr.  Miller;  and  then  she 
turned  and  left  the  saloon,  and  went  on  deck. 

By  this  time  they  had  got  well  past  Loch  Salen,  and  right 
ahead  of  them  lay  the  open  Alantic,  with  Tobermory  light- 
house on  their  left,  and  on  their  right  the  gaunt  precipices  of 
Ardnamurchan  Point  running  out  to  the  ocean.  The  sun 
was  wearing  round  to  the  west ;  and  a  warmer  light  lay  over 
the  vast  panorama  of  mountains,  shores,  and  sea.  The  wind 
had  gone  down  a  bit,  too ;  and  Captain  Jimmy  was  looking 
forward  to  the  tifne  when,  having  got  up  to  the  mouth  of  Loch 
Sunart,  he  should  be  able  to  alter  the  course  of  the  Sea-Pyot 
and  let  her  run  in  before  the  wind  to  her  anchorage  for  the 
night. 

Mrs.  Warrener  linked  her  hand  within  Violet's  arm,  and 
led  her  forward  a  bit,  apparently  the  better  to  command  a 
view  of  the  open  sea. 

"Violet,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  Mr.  Miller? " 

"  Nothing,"  the  girl  answered. 

"  There  is  some  thing  the  matter  with  him  :  you  see  that." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  she  replied ;  and  then  she  said,  with  proud 
indifference,  "  I  have  done  nothing  to  offend  him  that  I  know 
of.  If  he  chooses  to  make  himself  unpleasant,  how  can  I 
help  it  ?  Look  at  him  now — reading  a  book,  and  taking  no 
notice  of  all  this  wonderful  place.  We  may  look  forward  to 
a  delightful  trip  if  he  keeps  on  in  that  way." 

"Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  gently,  ^' you  ought  not  to 
speak  of  him  like  that ;  you  ought  to  make  excuses  for  him." 

"  Why  should  I,  any  more  than  any  one  else  ?     I  wish  to  be 


RAIN,   WIND,  AND  SPEED.  189 

as  friendly  with  him  as  with  any  one  ;  but  when  I  see  him  mak- 
ing this  return  for  your  brother's  kindness  in  asking  him  to  go 
with  us — " 

"Oh,  James  doesn't  mind.     Probably  he  doesn't  see  it." 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  he  was  sea-sick,"  said  Violet,  rather 
cruelly.  "  But  it  isn't  that,  for  he  has  been  smoking  cigars  all 
day.  People  say  that  on  board  a  ship  is  a  dreadful  place  for 
making  people  quarrel ,  but  we  haven't  been  on  board  here  long 
enough,  surely.  There  is  one  thing,  however,  certain  enough. 
A  ship  is  a  bad  place  to  bottle  up  inflammable  materials  in. 
If  he  imagines  himself  wronged  or  hurt  in  any  way,  there  will 
be  an  explosion — and  that  before  long." 

She  was  right  in  her  conjecture,  as  events  were  soon  to 
prove ;  but  in  the  mean  time,  could  any  thing  be  more  peace- 
ful and  peace-suggesting  than  the  scenes  through  which  the 
Sea-Pyot  was  now  gently  bearing  them .?  They  had  turned 
aside  from  the  broad  waters  of  the  Sound,  and  were  now  run- 
ning, "before  a  light  breeze,  into  a  long  and  winding  loch  that 
lay  between  hills  and  mountains  of  singular  beauty  of  form  and 
color.  The  solemn  evening  light,  touching  the  higher  peaks, 
seemed  to  add  to  the  silence  and  loneliness  of  the  shadows 
below,  where  the  gray  heron  stood  motionless  under  the  black 
rocks,  and  here  and  there  the  dark  head  of  a  seal  appeared  in 
the  smooth  waters  of  the  succeeding  bays.  It  was  without  a 
sound  that  the  Sea-Pyot  glided  past  the  successive  headlands  ; 
but  her  arrival  was  announced  from  time  to  time  by  the  far  call 
of  the  curlew,  startling  the  silence  of  the  place,  and  awakening 
answering  cries  from  other  seabirds  along  the  coast.  At  length 
they  sailed  into  a  solitary  little  bay,  where  the  water  was  almost 
without  a  ripple,  and  here  the  impressive  stillness  that  reigned 
around  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  loud,  harsh  rattle  of  the 
chain-cable  as  the  anchor  plunged.  The  curlews  whistled 
their  warning-note  as  they  fled  along  the  shore  ;  the  sea-pyots 
screamed  shrilly  as  they  flew  away  across  the  loch,  skimming 
the  water  in  their  flight ;  a  single  heron,  uttering  a  low,  harsh 
croak,  heavily  lifted  his  long  wings  and  disappeared  in  the 
gathering  twilight.  Then  all  was  peace  again ;  and  the  dark- 
ness came  gently  down  over  the  mountains,  and  over  the  still 
bosom  of  the  lake,  until  one  could  scarcely  make  out  the 
shore. 

If  the  prosaic  details  of  yachting  had  been  prominent  dur- 
ing the  day,  they  were  no  longer  so  in  the  mystic  silence  of  the 
night  as  the  stars  came  out  over  the  hills,  and  the  ripple  against 
the  side  of  the  vessel  broke  in  a  million  sparks  of  phosphores- 
cent fire.     Then  the  moon  arose  ;  and  the  shore  and  the  hills 


190  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

began  to  appear  again  in  the  glowing  light,  until  another  world 
stood  revealed,  cold  and  silent  and  still.  The  red  glow  of  the 
cabin  sky-light  was  the  only  point  of  intense  color  in  all  this 
pale  picture ;  even  as  in  the  yacht  itself,  where  peace  and  si- 
lence seemed  to  prevail,  there  was  but  one  fierce  and  hidden 
fire — in  a  man's  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER. 

At  this  point,  and  in  common  courtesy  to  his  readers,  the 
writer  of  these  pages  considers  himself  bound  to  give  fair 
warning  that  the  following  chapter  deals  solely  and  wholly 
with  the  shooting  of  mergansers,  curlews,  herons,  and  such 
like  fearful  wild  fowl ;  therefore,  those  who  regard  such  grace- 
less idling  with  aversion,  and  are  anxious  to  get  on  with  the 
story,  should  at  once  proceed  to  chapter  twenty-three.  There 
is  no  just  reason,  one  might  urge,  why  fiction  should  speak 
only  of  those  days  in  a  man's  life  in  which  something  supremely 
good  or  supremely  bad  happened  to  him — ^jumping  over  the  far 
greater  number  of  days  in  which  nothing  particular  happened  to 
him — and  thereby  recording  the  story  of  his  life  in  a  jerky,  stac- 
cato, impossible  manner.  Destiny  is  not  forever  marching  on 
with  majestic  stride ;  even  the  horrid  Furies  sometimes  put  away 
their  whips.  Give  a  man  a  gun,  place  him  on  a  highland  loch 
on  a  still  day  in  August,  show  him  a  few  dark  specks  swimming 
round  the  distant  promontories,  and  he  will  forget  that  there  is 
even  such  a  thing  as  to-morrow.  To  write  out  the  whole  story 
of  his  life  in  this  fashion  would,  of  course,  be  impossible  ;  for 
it  would  be  twenty  times  as  long  as  the  longest  Japanese  drama 
in  existence ;  while  the  death-rate  among  the  readers — say 
twenty-four  in  a  thousand  per  annum — would  interfere  with 
the  continued  attention  demanded  by  the  author.  But  occa- 
sionally, in  the  briefest  story,  one  of  these  idle  and  unmemor- 
able  days  ought  to  come  in,  just  to  show  that  the  people  are 
not  always  brooding  over  the  plan  of  their  lives.  Anyhow — 
and  this  is  the  long  and  short  of  it — three  out  of  five  of  the 
passengers  on  board  the  Sea-Pyot  are  going  in  pursuit  of  mer- 
gansers, and  the  gentle  reader  is  entreated  to  grant  them  this 
one  holiday,  which  will  be  the  last  of  its  kind. 

"  What  else,  indeed,  could  they  do  .'*     There  was  no  wind 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  191 

to  take  them  out  of  the  beautiful  little  bay  in  which  they 
were  anchored.  When  Violet  came  up  and  saw  how  still 
and  clear  the  water  was — small  fish,  "  cuddies,"  could  be 
seen  at  a  wonderful  depth — she  immediately  darted  down 
again  and  brought  up  with  her  one  of  the  bottles  out  of  the 
cruet-stand. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  the  world  ?  " 
she  called  out. 

When  they  confessed  they  had  not,  she  emptied,  regardless 
of  expense,  the  contents  of  the  mustard-pot  into  the  sea, 
close  by  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and  immediately  the  great 
shining  depths  beneath  them  were  filled  with  particles  of 
glittering  gold,  the  sun  gleaming  on  them  as  they  slowly 
sunk,  and  causing  the  sea  to  look  as  if  it  were  so  much 
Goldeiieswasser  from  Dantzig. 

"  That  is  a  pretty  trick.  Miss  Violet,"  remarked  a  tall  gen- 
tleman standing  there.  "  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  fill  that 
bottle  again  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,"  remarked  the  young  lady,  with  much 
coolness,  as  she  went  below. 

"  Now,  Jimmy,"  continued  Mr.  Drummond,  turning  to  the 
skipper,  with  whom  he  had  been  talking,  "  you  don't  really 
mean  to  say  that  a  seal  flung  stones  at  you  ?  Come,  now — I 
will  make  every  allowance  for  winter-time — and  idleness — 
and  the  necessity  of  stories ;  but  you  know,  Jimmy,  that  is  a 
little  too  much — " 

"  I  declare  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  yellow-bearded,  brown- 
complexioned  man,  with  some  Highland  vehemence,  "  it  is 
as  true  as  you  are  standing  there.  Is  it  stones  ?  Tam  him, 
he  nearly  felled  my  head  off  wi'  stones  as  big  as  your  hand, 
and  bigger.  For  I  was  in  a  boat  when  I  shot  at  him  ;  and  I 
sah  he  couldna  get  down  to  the  watter ;  and  I  knew  that  I 
had  struck  him.  And  when  I  got  on  the  shore  to  run  up  to 
him,  tam  him,  be  began  to  fling  the  stones  at  my  head  ;  and 
he  did  not  fling  them  as  a  man  would  fling  them,  but  back- 
ward, with  his  head  turned  away  from  you ;  and  you  should 
hef  seen  how  he  will  catch  the  stones  up  with  his  fins,  or  his 
hands,  or  whatever  it  is.  And  there  was  no  use  waiting,  sir, 
so  I  will  run  up  to  him  as  hard  as  I  could,  and  I  will  fall  on 
him  then,  and  catch  him  round  the  head,  and  it  was  no  more 
stones  he  will  fling  after  I  had  the  grip  of  him.  See  !  sir,  see ! 
■ — there  is  one  now — going  into  the  weeds." 

About  sixty  yards  off,  making  in  for  the  shore,  they  could 
descry  a  round  brown  object,  moving  from  side  to  side. 
Young  Miller,  who  had  his  gun  in  his  hand,  instantly  put  it 


192  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

up  to  his  shoulder  ;  Drummond  as  quickly  caught  the  barrels 
and  turned  them  aside. 

"  By  the  ashes  of  my  grandfather,  there  shall  not  be  a  shot 
fired  at  a  seal  while  we  are  in  these  waters  !  What  is  the 
use  ?  If  you  wound  him,  he  dives  ;  if  you  kill  him,  he  sinks  ; 
and  if  yOu  got  him,  what  would  you  do  with  him  ?  The  skin 
is  worth  nothing.  Then  he  is  the  most  harmless  and  gentle 
creature — " 

*'  Especially  when  he  throws  stones  at  you." 

"  Wouldn't  you  throw  stones,  or  any  thing  else,  at  any  one 
who  peppered  you  with  a  charge  of  duck-shot  ? " 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  shoot  when  we  go  out  to-day  ? ""  in- 
quired the  younger  man,  with  some  resentment.  "  You  have 
got  up  a  regular  list,  now,  of  things  that  must  not  be  touched. 
If  they  only  knew,  the  birds  and  beasts  might  come  on  board 
here  as  a  sort  of  sanctuary — " 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  we  must  shoot.  First  of  all, 
that  abominable  wretch,  the  curlew,  for  he  is  a  screaming 
tell-tale,  and  he  is  likewise  very  good  to  eat.  Then  I  believe 
those  gentle  creatures  below  are  rather  anxious  to  have  some 
heron's  feathers  ;  you  may  shoot  a  heron  or  two  when  you 
get  the  chance — only  they  don't,  as  a  rule,  come  and  perch 
on  the  point  of  your  barrels.  But,  above  all,  we  must  slay 
duck — wild  duck — the  bird  that  looks  inelegant  in  the  air, 
but  beautiful  on  the  table — him  we  must  seize  by  fair  means 
or  foul,  else  we  shall  have  nothing  to  break  the  monotony  of 
mutton  for  days  and  days  to  come,  and  we  may  even  run 
short  of  mutton,  if  we  come  to  a  place  where  the  postmaster 
hasn't  been  killing  lately.  Three  or  four  miles  from  here,  up 
one  of  the  side  lochs,  Jimmy  says  the  place  swarms  with 
duck,  and  there  will  be  some  that  are  flappers  yet.  I  grieve 
to  think  of  destroying  these  young  things  before  they  have 
grown  tired  of  the  world  ;  but  Jimmy  says  they  are  exceed- 
ingly good  to  eat.  Of  course,  if  these  duck  had  any  sense, 
they  would  give  up  eating  grass  and  fresh  water-weeds,  and 
take  to  sea-weed,  and  shrimps,  and  young  jelly-fish,  and  so 
on,  until  they  grew  as  fishy  as  a  fine,  old,  rich-flavored  solan. 
Then  people  would  let  them  alone." 

"  But  this  is  salt-water  we  have  here." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  it  is  salt-water  in  the  loch  we  are  going  up  ? " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  what  are  the  wild  duck  doing  here,  if  they  live  on 
fresh-water  weeds  ? " 

*'  I  don't  know.     How  can  I  tell  ?     I  am  informed  that  wild 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  193 

duck  abound  here  in  great  numbers ;  I  have  seen  birds  re- 
sembUng  duck  swimming  in  the  loch ;  I  have  asked  if  they 
were  widgeon — no,  they  are  not  widgeon ;  that  is  .  all  I 
know." 

'•  Perhaps  they  come  down  from  the  mountain  streams  to 
have  a  swim  in  the  loch." 

"  Perhaps  they  do.  We  will  shoot  them,  and  ask  them  for 
an  explanation." 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  that  forenoon  that  the  gig  was 
lowered  and  two  stalwart  young  fellows  got  in  to  hand  down 
the  guns,  cartridge-bags,  luncheon-baskets,  etc.  Just  as  Mr. 
George  Miller  had  taken  his  station  at  the  bow,  the  men  on 
the  thwarts,  and  Mr.  Drummond  at  the  stern,  and  as  they 
were  about  to  bid  "  Good-bye  "  to  those  left  on  the  board  the 
yacht,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Miss  Violet  that  she  would  like 
very  much  to  join  this  shooting  expedition.  She  pleaded 
earnestly.  Mr.  Miller  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  said  she  had 
better  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Mr.  Drummond,  looking  up 
from  his  seat  in  the  stern,  said, 

"Are  you  willing  to  have  your  ears  dinned  ?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  being  shot  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  sit  near  you :  if  I  were  six  yards  off,  I  should 
be." 

This  insult  was  too  much. 

"  Give  way,  lads,  give  way !  "  he  called  out. 

"  No !  Don't !  Wait  a  minute  !  "  she  called  out  also ;  and 
the  men  stopped. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Drummond,  let  me  go  with  you,  and  I  shall 
be  most  respectful  to  you  the  whole  time.  You  want  somebody 
to  bring  back  the  story.  You  could  not,  your  two  selves,  begin 
to  tell  all  the  wonderful  things  you  did.     Please  let  me  go  ? " 

"  Come  along,  then,"  and  he  rose  and  handed  her  down  in- 
to the  boat,  where  she  took  her  seat  beside  him.  In  another 
minute  or  two  the  gig  was  well  away  from  the  yacht,  making 
for  a  narrow  channel  in  the  loch  between  some  small  islands 
and  the  main-land. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  his  companion,  "  you  must  preserve 
strict  silence." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  obediently. 

Having  placed  this  injunction  on  her,  he  forthwith  pro- 
ceeded to  descant  most  unconcernedly  on  the  quick  hearing 
and  long  sight  of  birds,  on  the  cunning  of  savages  in  captur- 
ing wild  animals,  on  the  instinctive  yearning  in  civilized  life 
for  a  brief  return  to  the  freedom,  physical  toil,  and  excitement 
13 


194  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

enjoyed  by  the  savage  in  his  pursuit  of  game  and  so  forth, 
and  so  forth.  She  remained  absolutely  silent ;  but  there  was  a 
demure  smile  about  her  lips.  It  was  not  until  he  was  pro- 
ceeding to  expou^id  to  her  that  the  radical  vice  of  the  English 
political  character  was  its  contempt  for  parochial  affairs — that 
every  boy  fresh  from  the  university  was  prepared  to  reform 
the  Constitution,  but  would  not  stoop  to  learn  any  thing  of 
the  local  raising  and  application  of  taxes,  and  so  forth,  that 
she  ventured  to  say, 

"  Do  I  speak  more  loudly  than  you  ?  How  is  it  you  have 
no  fear  of  frightening  away  the  birds  .''  " 

Just  at  this  minute  they  were  startled  by  a  loud  whirring  of 
wings  and  a  shrill  whistle ;  and  a  large  gray  object  was  seen 
to  flash  along  the  front  of  the  rocks  ahead  of  them.  Bang ! 
bang !  went  two  barrels  at  the  bow — the  bird  flew  on  and  dis- 
appeared. But  now  on  all  sides,  in  this  seemingly  silent  and 
deserted  place,  a  wild  confusion  arose.  Half  a  dozen  oyster- 
catchers  flew  out  from  the  shore,  their  red  bills  and  legs  shin- 
ing in  the  sun,  and  made  away  up  the  loch  ;  everywhere  there 
was  a  calling  of  curlews  ;  a  flock  of  sandpipers  rose  and 
twisted  about  in  the  air  exactly  like  snipe ;  two  or  three  her- 
ons, with  slowly  flapping  wings,  and  legs  hanging  down,  dis- 
appeared over  the  nearest  promontory. 

"  Why  didn't  you  shoot  that  curlew  ?  "  Drummond  called 
out. 

The  answer  showed  that  the  young  man  at  the  bow  had 
been  nursing  a  silent  rage  all  this  time. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  how  we  are  likely  to  shoot  any  thing 
so  long  as  you  go  on  talking  like  that,"  he  said,  sharply. 
"  And  I  knew  how  it  would  be." 

"  Why,"  Drummond  called  out,  good-naturedly,  "  the  bird 
wasn't  thirty  yards  off  when  he  rose  ;  you  won't  get  such  an- 
other chance  at  a  curlew  if  you  wait  here  twenty  years." 

"  Well,  I  think  we  may  as  well  go  back  to  the  yacht." 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  swim  as  far,  can  you  ?  Never  mind, 
Miller ;  we  must  keep  quiet  now.  You  needn't  pull,  lads  ; 
the  current  will  carry  us  through  those  channels.  Miller, 
keep  a  good  lookout." 

There  was  now  no  more  about  the  instinct  of  savages  or 
the  taxation  of  Camberwell ;  for  the  rising  tide,  producing  a 
strong  current  running  up  the  loch,  was  carrying  the  cutter 
silently  through  certain  twisting  channels  between  the  island 
and  the  shore.  The  shore  was  at  this  point  both  rocky  and 
wooded — young  ash  and  birch  coming  down  in  many  places 
close  to  the  water ;  while  round  the  islands  the  tide  was  still 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  v  195 

low  enough  to  display  a  broad  fringe  of  brown  sea-weed. 
There  was  therefore  every  chance  of  finding  plenty  of  wild 
fov/l  about. 

Silently  and  stealthily  they  stole  by  the  successive  promon- 
tories, sometimes  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  heron  heavily  flying 
away  far  ahead  of  them,  and  again  listening  to  the  distant  call 
of  the  curlew.  Suddenly  Miss  Violet  touched  her  compan- 
ion's arm.  A  heron  had  come  right  overhead ;  flying  from 
the  shore,  it  had  discovered  its  mistake  too  late  to  turn  right 
back,  and  was  now  making  for  the  islands.  Miss  Violet  put 
her  hands  to  her  ears,  but  she  still  looked  up.  The  next 
second  her  head  was  violently  shaken  by  the  report  of  the  gun 
and  a  huge  confused  mass  of  feathers  came  tumbling  down 
into  the  sea,  some  five-and-twenty  yards  oif.  When  they 
rowed  back  for  it  against  the  current  and  hauled  it  on  board, 
they  found  it  to  be  a  very  large  heron,  about  three  feet  and  a 
half  from  bill  to  claw,  and  in  very  fair  plumage.  But  they  had 
scarcely  got  the  heron  into  the  boat  when  their  attention  was 
called  to  a  flock  of  birds  that  had  risen  from  the  shores  of  an 
island  near,  and  were  twisting  this  way  and  that  in  the  air, 
the  flock  showing  white  one  minute  and  gray  the  next. 

"  Surely  they're  snipe  !  "  called  out  Miller  ;  and  one  of  the 
sailors — who  seemed  to  have  as  much  interest  as  any  one  in 
what  was  going  on — called  out  in  reply, 

"  Ay,  they're  snipe,  sir !  see,  there  they're  coming  round 
now." 

,  The  flock  made  one  of  their  abrupt  wheels,  and  swept  by 
the  bow  of  the  boat  some  forty  yards  oif.  Mr.  Miller  fired 
both  his  barrels  into  the  thick  of  them — anxious  to  have  the 
larder  of  the  yacht  supplied  with  such  goodly  prey — and  as 
the  birds  sheered  off  to  the  left,  Mr.  Drummond  sent  a  part- 
ing shot  after  them.     Three  fell. 

"  Only  three,  after  all  that  noise  ! "  called  out  a  young  lady 
who  had  promised  silence. 

But  what  was  their  disgust,  on  pulling  up  to  the  birds  and 
hauling  them  in,  to  find  that,  in  place  of  the  coveted  snipe, 
they  were  only  poor  little  sandpipers,  whose  fatal  resemblance 
to  the  snipe  in  their  length  of  bill  and  manner  of  flying  had 
brought  on  them  this  destruction.  The  disappointment  of 
the  shooters,  however,  was  as  nothing  to  the  pity  expressed 
by  their  gentle  companion,  who  regarded  herself  as  an  acces- 
sory to  this  slaughter  of  the  innocents. 

"  You  can  eat  sandpipers,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Miller. 

''  You  can  eat  thrushes  and  nightingales,"  was  the  retort, 
*'  and  who  wants  to  do  that  ?  " 


196  '  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

By  this  time  they  had  drifted  thioogii  the  narrow  channels, 
and  the  men  took  to  their  oais  again.  They  were  nowin 
front  of  a  broad  and  shallow  bay,  some  four  or  fire  miles  in 
ciicmnference,  tbe  smooth  waters  of  which  reflected  the  ten- 
der colors  of  the  great  mountains  l)Tng  between  the  level 
shores  and  the  sky.  In  many  places  these  flat  shores  showed 
long  stretches  ctf  white  sand  coming  down  to  the  water's  edge 
and  there  fringed  with  an  abundance  (rf  weeds  that  offered 
excellent  shelter  for  wild  f owL  Indeed,  they  could  now  de- 
ciy,  at  several  points  near  the  land,  certain  groups  ol  dark 
specks  moving  slowly  in  the  water ;  at  last  they  had  come  to 
the  haunt  of  the  wild  dm^ 

They  had  no  dog,  no  stalking-horse,  no  flat-bottcxned  punt ; 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  pull  straight  for  the  doc^,  on 
the  chanch  of  getting  a  shot  when  they  rose  and  wheekd  over- 
head. It  was  also  very  doubtful  whether  they  could  get  any- 
where near  the  lanc^  the  water  in  this  broad  and  sandy  bay 
being  so  shallow  near  the  shore.  Already  in  the  far  cr^-stal 
deeps  they  could  descry  the  long  tangles  of  tiie  sea-weed; 
they  seemed  to  be  passing  over  transparent  roof  dL  a  magical 
marine  palace  garlanded  by  the  mysterious  inhabitants  erf  the 
sea. 

The  five  birds  they  were  now  approadiing  showed  no  agn 
either  of  getting  up  or  betaking  themselves  to  the  exposed 
sea-weed  erf  the  ro^s,  where  they  could  easily  have  hidden 
themselves.  They  only  swam  a  little  more  actively  about 
in  the  water,  obviously  r^;arding  the  strangers,  and  perhaps 
drawing  a  trifle  nearer  to  the  shore.  At  last  Mr.  Miller  said, 
in  a  lood  idii^ier, 

^  Shall  I  fire  a  shot  to  put  them  up  ?  We  shall  be  aground 
directly." 

"  All-right,"  was  the  answer. 

Miller,  who  was  crouching  down,  stealAily  put  the  barrels 
of  his  gun  over  the  bow,  put  the  stock  to  his  shoulder,  and, 
taking  a  long  and  steady  aim,  fired.  The  silerure  of  the  bay 
resounded  to  the  report!  Then  Mr.  Drummond,  jumping  up 
to  take  better  aim,  looked  round. 

There  was  no  sign  whatever  of  the  duck.  Miller  had  seen 
the  shot  strike  the  water  all  round  them  and  over  them  ;  but 
they  had  apparently  ducked  the  flash  so  successfully  that  not 
a  feather  remained  to  tell  of  their  having  been  there.  The 
two  sportsmen  stood  in  the  boat,  gun  in  hand,  in  momentary 
expectation  of  seeing  one  of  those  black  objects  re-a|^jearon 
the  sur^u:£  of  the  blue  water.     They  waited  in  vain. 

Just  then  one  of  the  oarsmen  called  aloud  and  pointed  to 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  197 

three  duck  flying  almost  overhead,  at  a  considerable  height, 
and  toward  the  stern  of  the  boat.  It  was  but  a  hap-hazard 
shot ;  but  all  the  same  Mr.  Drummond  put  up  his  gun  and 
fired. 

"  I  have  him  this  time,"  he  said,  as  one  of  the  three  came 
down  like  the  stick  of  a  rocket  and  splashed  into  the  water. 
Mr.  Drummond  paid  no  attention  to  the  bird ;  he  was  busy 
in  putting  another  cartridge  into  the  empty  barrel ;  but  Violet 
called  out, 

"Where  is  that  duck?     I  can't  see  him." 

There  was  no  duck  visible. 

"  Confound  it !  "  said  Drummond,  "  I  never  saw  a  duck 
like  that  before." 

"  I  see  him,  sir — there  he  is  !  "  cried  the  sailor  Alec ;  and 
then  the  two  plunged  their  oars  in  the  water  and  made  away 
for  the  spot  where  the  bird  had  come  up — some  hundred  yards 
or  so  from  where  it  had  fallen.  Directly,  however,  the  duck 
dived  again ;  and  was  no  more  seen,  though  they  waited  about 
the  place  for  five  or  six  minutes. 

They  would  try  again.  They  pulled  across  the  loch — with 
curlews  and  sea-pyots  and  sandpipers  screaming  and  flying 
before  them — and  again  they  drew  near  a  group  of  those  dark 
objects  which  were  paddling  in  by  the  shore.  On  approach- 
ing them,  however,  these  birds  did  make  an  effort  to  rise  ; 
but  they  could  only  whir  along  the  surface  of  the  water  for  a 
short  distance,  whipping  it  \vith  their  wings  as  they  went. 

"  By  Jove !  they  are  flappers,"  Drummond  called  out. 
"Pulfaway,  my  lads;  you  shall  have  a  brace  for  your  din- 
ner." 

The  young  duck  could  fly  no  farther ;  they  were  swimming 
as  rapidly  as  they  could,  looking  round  every  minute  at  the 
enemy,  who  was  rapidly  gaining  on  them.  At  length  Miller 
called  out, 

"  We  must  fire  now,  or  they  will  dive  :  take  the  outside 
ones  first." 

Again  the  silent  bay  resounded  with  the  loud  banging  of 
the  guns ;  and  one  after  the  other  charges  of  shot  struck  the 
water,  churning  it  into  a  white  foam.  The  seven  birds  had 
separated,  swimming  in  various  directions  ;  so  that  the  aim 
and  effect  of  each  shot  were  clearly  visible.  By  rights  four 
of  the  birds  should  have  been  killed;  for  apparently  four 
charges  of  lead  had  struck  down  on  them ;  but  when  the 
smoke  had  cleared  away  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  one  of 
the  birds  that  was  half  fluttering  and  half  swimming  in  to  the 
land.     For  a  second  or  two  they  waited  to  see  if  any  of  the 


198  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Other  six  would  come  up  again  ;  they  looked  in  vain  :  in  their 
bewilderment  they  called  on  the  men  to  pull  after  this  remain- 
ing duck,  which  was  at  least  visible. 

Visible  ?     That  had  disappeared  too. 

"  Will  any  body  tell  me,"  Mr.  Drummond  asked,  looking 
round  in  amazement,  "  whether  we  are  in  a  Highland  loch  or 
in  some  confounded  incantation-scene  ?  Alec,  my  lad,  do  you 
really  say  these  birds  are  wild  duck  t " 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  the  young  sailor,  seriously,  "it  iss  sure 
enough  they  are  wild  duck  ;  but  it  iss  not  easy  the  shooting 
of  them,  for  the  wicket  teffles  they  will  tife  and  hould  on  to 
the  weeds  at  the  bottom." 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  Drummond  cried,  scornfully,  "  no  man  will 
persuade  me  that  these  are  wild  duck.  Your  mallard  is  a  re- 
spectable and  gentlemanly  bird,  and  when  you  kill  him  he 
dies,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it.  Gracious  powers,  look  at 
that!" 

He  pointed  to  the  clear  and  shallow  water,  and  they  could 
see  a  sort  of  wavy  track  in  it  some  few  yards  off.  Directly 
afterward  they  saw  that  this  was  a  bird — probably  one  of 
the  duck  that  had  dived  farther  out — swimming  under  the  wa- 
ter with  singular  rapidity,  and  making  for  the  shore. 

"  We  must  have  this  fellow,  anyway,"  Drummond  called 
out,  "  for  there  is  no  weed  at  all  there  ;  "  and,  just  as  he  spoke, 
the  bird  bobbed  up  its  head  and  looked  around.  Drummond 
fired ;  the  shot  struck  the  water  exactly  at  the  proper 
place  ;  but  the  bird  had  dived  before  it  reached  him.  The 
bow  of  the  boat  grated  on  the  sand ;  they  could  pull  no  far- 
ther in.  But  once  again  the  duck,  finding  no  shelter,  ap- 
peared on  the  surface  of  the  water ;  and  this  time  a  snap- 
shot of  Mr.  Miller's  stretched  him  lifeless. 

"  The  wicket  wee  teffle,  we  hef  him  now  !  "  remarked  Alec, 
as  he  jumped  into  the  water  and  waded  across  to  the  bird. 

"  Now  let  us  examine  this  mystical  creature,"  Mr.  Drum- 
mond said,  "  and  if  it  proves  to  be  a  new  phenomenon — a 
being  hitherto  unknown  to  science — we  will  give  it  a  name. 
I  suggest  Anas  magica — " 

"  I  should  think  jack-in-the-box  vulgaris  would  do,"  inter- 
posed Violet. 

The  mysterious  wild  fowl  was  here  handed  into  the  boat. 
Certainly  it  bore  all  the  outward  signs  of  being  a  duck.  It 
had  the  ruddy-brown  and  gray-speckled  plumage  of  a  duck  ;  it 
had  the  white  banded  wings  and  the  tail  of  a  duck  ;  it  had 
the  heavy,  waddling  body  of  a  duck  ;  it  had  the  webbed  feet 
of  a  duck.     The  only  apparent  point  of  difference  was  the 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  199 

bill,  which,  instead  of  being  short  and  flat,  was  long,  narrow 
and  pointed,  with  a  row  of  small,  sharp,  serrated  teeth  on 
each  side. 

"  Alec  !  "  Mr.  Drummond  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  I  believe 
you  have  deceived  me.     This  is  no  cluck  at  all." 

"  Ay,  sir,  it  iss  a  duck,"  Alec  maintained,  adding  philosoph- 
ically, "  and  it  iss  ferry  good  for  eating  whatelfer." 

"  Why,  man,  look  at  the  bill — that  bird  lives  on  fish.  He 
will  taste  like  a  gannet  or  a  douker.  Why — now  when  I 
think  of  it — surely  it  must  be — I  am  certain  this  must  be  the 
merganser — " 

''  The  what  ?  " 

"  The  merganser.  I  never  saw  one ;  but  when  I  was  at 
Oxford  a  man  I  knew  there  shot  one  of  them,  one  very  hard 
winter,  quite  close  by  the  town  ;  and  I  have  a  vague  recol- 
lection of  his  believing  he  had  shot  a  brace  of  wild  duck. 
Alec,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  call  this  animal  a  duck  t " 

"  It  iss  a  duck,  and  it  iss  no  others  you  will  get ;  and  ferry 
good  they  are  for  the  eating,"  Alec  maintained,  sturdily. 

"  Well,  well,  if  you  say  so,  we  must  try  to  get  some  more. 
How  many  cartridges  have  w^e  fired  }  The  merganser  takes 
a  deal  of  powder  and  shot :  he  ought  to  be  good  for  the  eat- 
ing." 

And  so  the  luckless  merganser  was  pitched  beside  the 
dead  heron  ;  and  there  was  no  use  remaining  in  this  bay, 
where  all  the  birds  had  been  disturbed  by  the  firing  (even  the 
gulls  were  wheeling  high  in  the  air),  the  men  pulled  away  for 
the  next  ann  of  this  long  and  winding  loch.  The  world  had 
grown  still  again,  save  for  the  clanking  of  the  oars.  They 
saw  one  or  two  seals  off  an  island  lying  out  in  the  lake  ; 
their  black  heads  motionless  on  the  smooth  water.  At  last 
they  came  in  sight  of  a  long  promontory  partly  covered  with 
wood ;  and  here  it  was  judged  advisable  that  young  Miller 
should  go  on  shore,  creep  round  by  the  wood,  and  steal  out 
to  the  end  of  this  promontory,  while  Mr.  Drummond,  in  the 
boat,  would  lie  in  ambush  for  such  birds  as  might  be  driven 
his  way. 

The  young  man  went  off — picking  his  way  over  the  big 
stones  and  through  the  tall  weeds  that  here  lined  the  shore 
— and  by-and-by  they  saw  him  crouching  along  by  the  land- 
ward hollows  until  he  disappeared  on  the  other  side  of  the 
promontory.  They  awaited  the  result  of  his  expedition  in 
absolute  silence.  Suddenly,  however,  Violet  touched  her 
companion's  arm.  A  heron — with  an  indiscretion  that  rarely 
characterizes  that  most  wary  of  birds — was  coming   slowly 


200  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

down  the  loch,  and  apparently  about  to  pass  the  boat  at  not 
more  than  twenty  yards'  distance.  Indeed,  he  had  got  to 
within  thirty  yards  of  the  bow — flying  close  to  the  water,  and 
apparently  quite  heedless — when  he  sheered  off  a  bit,  and 
that  so  little,  that  he  remained  within  shot  for  at  least  ten  or 
twelve  seconds.     Mr.  Drummond  did  not  put  up  his  gun. 

"  One  is  enough,"  he  said,  indifferently  ;  "  you  will  have 
plenty  of  feathers.  And  that  was  a  young  one — both  young 
and  foolish — " 

Here  they  heard  the  crack  of  Miller's  gun ;  and  directly 
afterward  it  seemed  as  if  these  silent  coasts  had  sprung  into 
life.  There  was  a  calling  and  shrieking  of  birds  ;  another 
shot,  and  still  another,  followed  in  quick  succession  ;  three 
or  four  herons  appeared  over  the  promontory  (looking  huge 
objects  against  the  clear  sky),  and  rose  high  into  the  air  as 
they  made  for  the  mountains — a  string  of  ducks  was  seen  to 
shoot  across  the  loch,  followed  by  another  shot  from  the 
point — and  all  about  came  flying  curlews,  and  gulls,  and 
oyster-catchers,  the  last  flying  most  quickly  of  all,  with  their 
white  and  black  plumage  gleaming  in  the  sun.  Mr.  Drum- 
mond had  his  gun  in  readiness  for  the  curlews  ;  but  as  they 
successively  came  down  the  loch  they  caught  sight  of  the 
boat  and  got  easily  out  of  reach.  All  except  one  ;  and  that 
one  had  come  over  the  bushes  above  before  he  discovered 
wdiat  was  lying  underneath.  He  gave  a  shrill  whistle  and 
altered  his  flight;  but  it  was  too  late;  the  next  second  he 
was  lying  motionless  on  the  still  water. 

At  this  moment  they  saw  young  Miller  on  the  top  of  the 
promontory,  waving  to  them  with  his  cap. 

"  Pull  away,  boys,"  Drummond  said,  when  they  had  picked 
up  the  curlew.  "  I  suppose  he  wants  to  chase  some  more  of 
these  mergansers." 

When  they  came  up  to  the  promontory,  they  saw  several  ob- 
jects lying  on  the  water,  while  at  the  feet  of  the  young  man 
lay  a  heron  extended  on  the  rocks.  They  picked  up  the  birds 
for  him — two  sea-pyots  and  a  merganser — and  then  pulled  in 
for  the  shore,  where  they  all  landed  to  have  luncheon. 

"  What's  the  use  of  shooting  sea-pyots  ?  "  Mr.  Drummond 
asked.     "  There  were  lots  of  curlew  about." 

"  I  shot  what  I  could  get  to  shoot,"  the  young  man  answered, 
testily.     "  I  haven't  seen  you  shoot  a  curlew  yet." 

"You  might  have  done,"  was  the  careless  answer,  "  if  you 
had  been  in  the  boat.  However,  I  suppose  the  girls  will  be 
able  to  do  something  with  the  plumage — it  is  very  beautiful." 

*'  No,  thank  you,  as  far  as  1  am  concerned,"  Violet  said  ; 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  201 

'•'  I  only  wanted  some  of  those  gray  feathers  of  the  heron.  It 
seems  a  pity  to  shoot  birds  for  no  reason  at  all." 

The  young*  man  sat  down  to  his  luncheon  in  no  very  enviable 
mood.  He  was  convinced  that  if  Mr.  Drummond  had  shot 
the  oyster-catchers  she  would  have  found  reason  enough. 
Fortunately,  he  was  not  dependent  on  the  caprices  of  a  girl ; 
and  as  he  had  come  out  to  enjoy  a  day's  shooting,  he  was  de- 
termined to  enjoy  himself  in  his  own  fashion ;  and  she  might 
continue  to  show  such  preferences  as  pleased  her. 

Cold  mutton,  bread,  and  bottled  ale  are  very  welcome  things 
when  one  has  been  plunging  about  in  the  Highland  air  for  four 
or  five  hours  ;  and  then  there  was  a  soda-water  bottle  half 
filled  with  whisky  for  the  sailors,  who  had  their  share  of  the 
luncheon  in  the  boat.  They  were  now  within  sight  of  the 
extremity  of  this  arm  of  Loch  Sunart,  which  is  called  Loch 
Tyachus,  or  some  such  name ;  so  that  whatever  remained  to 
them  of  shooting  was  confined  within  this  long  shallow  bay, 
which  was  even  larger  than  the  one  they  had  previously  ex- 
plored. Moreover,  Alec  informed  them  that  there  were  always 
large  quantities  of  duck  up  at  the  head  of  the  loch,  where  a 
river  came  down  to  the  salt-water ;  and  it  was  a'matter  for 
speculation  whether,  in  this  fresh  water,  there  might  not  be 
some  mallard  or  teal.  To  get  a  few  ducks  of  this  description 
would  guard  them  against  the  risk  of  finding  the  mergansers, 
in  spite  of  Alec's  vehement  assertions,  uneatable. 

"  Do  you  see  those  cottages  away  up  there  at  the  head  of 
the  loch  ?  "  said  Mr.  Drummond,  as  he  lighted  a  contempla- 
tive pipe.  "  Fancy  living  in  such  a  place — all  by  yourself — 
confronted  day  and  night  by  those  lonely  mountains.  One 
might  get  into  a  sort  of  apprehensive  state — so  that  each 
morning  you  might  get  up  and  be  quite  surprised  that  the 
whole  bubble  hadn't  burst  up — " 

"  What  bubble  1 "  asked  Violet,  innocently. 

"  Why,  the  earth.  You  couldn't  know^  much  of  history  here  ; 
and  even  then  history  is  but  a  point.  The  Romans  knew  no 
more  of  how  they  came  into  the  w^orld  than  we  do ;  they  and 
we  are  but  as  one  in  that — and  in  the  point  of  time  too — and 
to-morrow  the  whole  business  might  be  cracked  up  by  a  col- 
lision, and  the  universe  go  on  without  heeding  that  trifling 
and  common  occurrence.  I  don't  see  any  road  to  those  cot- 
tages. If  the  people  come  along  this  shore,  their  carts  must 
have  strong  axle-trees.  And,  in  passing,  a  lurch  might  mix 
up  two  carts  just  as  if  they  were  railway-carriages.  I  re- 
member a  friend  of  mine,  an  Englishman,  who  used  to  drive 
his  family  about  the  country  in  a  wagonette,  and  one  day  he 


202  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

he  came  to  that  awfully  narrow  bit  in  the  Pass  of  Brander, 
and  just  then  he  found  the  coach  coming  down  the  other 
way.  By  rights  he  should  have  taken  the  outside,  where 
there  isn't  a  stone  to  save  you  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice  ; 
but  he  swore  to  himself  that  no  human  power  would  take  him 
to  that  side  of  the  road.  The  coach  came  on  ;  the  guard  blew 
his  horn  ;  my  friend  stuck  to  the  right  of  the  road,  close  by 
the  hill.  The  coach  came  close  up.  'Take  your  own  side  of 
the  road  ! '  bellowed  the  driver.  '  Take  your  own  side  of  the 
road  ! '  bellowed  the  guard.  *  Mes  amis,'  said  my  friend,  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  *  Je  ne  vous  comprends  pas  ! ' 
*  Take  to  your  own  side  of  the  road,  you  unmentionable 
foreigner  ! '  called  out  the  driver  again.  My  friend  only  smiled 
sweetly,  and  took  off  his  hat  with  a  most  courteous  bow. 
There  was  nothing  for  it.  The  guard  tried  to  explain  by 
signs  :  no  use.  They  had  to  lead  the  horses  of  the  coach  past 
on  the  outside ;  and  then,  as  my  friend  drove  on,  he  kissed 
his  hand  to  them,  and  said,  *  Mes  bons  amis,  je  vous  donne 
mille  remerciments  ;  |e  baise  les  mains  a  vous,  messieurs.'  " 

If  Mr.  George  Miller  and  Violet  had  been  on  more  inti- 
mate terms  they  would  have  looked  at  each  other  signifi- 
cantly. Both  had  an  awful  conviction  that  no  such  person  as 
this  mock-Frenchman  existed;  that  no  such  incident  had 
ever  occurred ;  that  the  whole  thing  had  been  suggested  by 
the  imagined  difficulty  of  getting  two  carts  to  pass  each  other 
on  the  stony  shores  of  Loch  Tyachus.  But  they  could  not 
give  utterance  to  these  suspicions  at  the  moment,  for  they 
were  now  summoned  down  to  the  gig  of  the  Sea-Pyot  by  the 
intelligence  that  a  large  brood  of  ducks  was  visible  farther 
along  the  shores  of  the  loch. 

There  was  a  trifle  more  vigor  in  the  pulling  of  the  men 
after  the  luncheon  and  whisky,  and  the  boat  swung  forward 
at  a  good  speed.  Once  they  were  suddenly  checked  by  the 
appearance  of  a  bird  sitting  on  the  water  a  short  distance 
ahead;  but  it  turned  out  that  this  was  only  a  small  glebe, 
and  so  they  proceeded.  By-and-by  they  came  near  to  the 
cottages ;  and  they  could  distinguish  one  or  two  women,  v/ith 
a  lot  of  children,  who  had  come  to  see  what  strange  intrusion 
was  this.  The  birds  were  now  but  forty  or  fifty  yards  ahead, 
well  inshore ;  and  with  a  caution  to  avoid  firing  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  cottages,  lest  the  ricochet  of  a  stray  shot  should 
reach  the  children,  Drummond  called  on  his  younger  friend 
to  fire  on  chance.  A  charge  of  shot  dashed  into  the  water ; 
the  whole  of  the  birds  dived  and  disappeared  but  one,  that 
got  up  and  flew  out  toward  the  middle  of  the  lake,  making  a 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  203 

semicircle  round  the  boat.  Miller,  at  the  bow,  having  just 
put  in  another  cartridge,  fired  his  first  barrel ;  and  one  could 
see  by  the  direction  of  the  smoke,  wadding,  and  so  forth, 
that  the  shot  must  have  rattled  all  round  the  duck.  He  fired 
his  second  barrel,  and  again  the  direction  seemed  all  that 
could  be  desired.  Drummond,  the  bird  having  now  got 
farther  round,  also  had  his  two  barrels  at  the  flying  target ; 
and  when  the  duck  was  finally  seen  to  get  clear  away  from  all 
these  showers  of  lead.  Miss  Violet  clapped  her  hands  and 
declared  that  he  deserved  to  escape. 

"  It  was  a  merganser,"  observed  Mr.  Drummond,  thought- 
fully ;  "  any  other  bird  would  have  been  killed  four  times 
over.  Each  of  those  charges  went  all  round  him  ;  and  yet  he 
never  moved  a  feather — " 

The  speaker  stopped.  What  was  this  enormous  bird  com- 
ing flying  down  at  a  great  rate  of  speed,  with  long  neck  out- 
stretched and  huge  wings  .-* 

"  Look  out !  "  Miller  cried.     "  A  wild  goose,  by  Jove  !  " 

He  had  the  first  shot,  and  evidently  struck  the  bird,  which 
altered  its  line  of  flight ;  but  before  it  had  gone  much  farther, . 
a  charge  of  No.  3  from  Mr.  Drummond's  gun  had  caught  the 
prodig)^  which  now  fell  head-foremost  into  the  sea-weed. 

"  Put  round  the  boat,  Alec  ! "  cried  Miss  Violet,  in  great 
excitement.  "  Now,  that  is  something  !  Pull  away.  Alec  ! 
quick — quick  !  " 

"  He's  dead  enough,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  for  indeed  the 
large  bird  was  lying  among  the  brown  sea-weed  with  its  wings 
outstretched. 

"  It  is  as  big  as  an  albatross  !  "  said  young  Miller.  "  And 
he  got  the  full  benefit  of  my  first  barrel  before  you  brought 
him  down." 

But  at  this  moment  the  whole  complexion  of  affairs  was 
changed  by  a  singular  incident.  They  now  observed  that 
one  of  the  women  was  coming  down  to  the  shore,  uttering  a 
series  of  shrill  sounds  that  appeared  to  be  violent  reproaches, 
and  shaking  her  clenched  hand  in  the  air.  Our  voyagers 
stared  at  each  other.  What  could  be  the  matter  ?  As  she 
came  nearer,  it  appeared  she  was  an  old  woman,  violently 
excited,  and  calling  out  to  them  in  a  language  they  could  not 
understand.  * 

"  We  can  not  have  hurt  any  body,"  said  Mr.  Drummond ; 
"  there  was  no  firing  anywhere  near  the  direction  of  the  cot- 
tages." 

""  I  think  it  wass  the  goose,  sir,"  said  Alec,  gravely. 

"  The  goose  ? " 


204  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"Ay;  I  think  the  goose  wass  belonging  to  the  old  woman." 

An  awful  possibility  flashed  into  their  minds.  By  this  time 
they  had  run  the  boat  in  among  the  stones ;  and  they  got  out 
and  went  up  to  the  old  woman,  who,  still  scolding  away  in  this 
unknown  tongue,  was  standing  by  the  body  of  the  dead  bird. 
When  they  regarded  the  luckless  animal  their  fears  were  con- 
firmed.    It  was,  in  fact,  a  respectable  old  gander. 

"Gracious  heavens!  Alec,"  cried  Drummond,  "will  you 
explain  the  matter  to  this  furious  old  woman  ?  Tell  her  that 
geese  in  our  country  don't  go  flying  out  to  sea  and  pretend- 
ing to  be  wild  birds.  Tell  her  this  old  gander  fell  a  prey  to 
his  vanity.     Tell  her — " 

But  Miss  Violet  had  taken  a  better  way  of  silencing  the 
old  woman.  She  had  put  a  couple  of  sovereigns  in  her  hand 
and  held  them  out.  The  old  woman  ceased  her  angry  de- 
nunciations, and  regarded  the  coin  with  a  suspicious  curiosity. 
She  took  them  up,  looked  at  them,  bit  them  wdth  her  teeth ; 
then  she  called  aloud  for  her  neighbor,  a  younger  woman, 
who  was  shyly  standing  at  some  little  distance.  The  latter 
came  timidly  forward,  and,  when  appealed  to,  looked  at  the 
sovereigns.  The  result  of  the  examination  was  not  favora- 
ble. 

"  Na,  na  !  "  the  old  woman  cried  ;  and  she  w^as  beginning 
once  more  to  denounce  the  wanton  cruelty  of  the  strangers, 
when  Alec,  in  as  forcible  Gaelic  as  her  own,  broke  in  upon 
her. 

What  ensued,  of  course,  our  travelers  could  not  tell ;  they 
could  only  guess  from  gestures  and  tones.  At  length  Alec 
said,  wdth  a  sort  of  bashful  smile, 

"  She'll  no  tek  the  English  money,  sir.  She  thinks  that 
you  intended  to  kill  her  gander,  sir-^" 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  her  that  such  a  fool  of  a  bird  richly 
deserves  its  fate?" 

"  She  says  if  you  will  pay  for  it,  it  must  be  in  good 
money — " 

"  Does  she  mean  in  one-pound  notes  ?  " 
■  "Yes,  sir." 

This  was  awkward.  Not  one  of  them  had  a  Scotch  note. 
Seeing  their  dilemma,  Alec  said,  with  some  hesitation, 

"  I  hef  one  or  two  notes,  sir — " 

"All  right.  Alec.  Let's  have  a  couple  of  them  ;  and  here 
are  two  good  English  sovereigns." 

"  Ay,'^  said  Alec,  with  still  greater  embarrassment,  "  but 
they  are  sewn  up  in  the  waistband  of  my  troosers — " 

"  All  right — cut  them  out ;  you  can  sew  them  up  afterward." 


THE  MAGIC  MERGANSER.  205 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  Alec,  looking  very  doubtfully  at  his  master, 
"  but  1  will  hef  to  tek  the  troosers  off — " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  hastily.  "  Well,  off  you 
go  up  to  the  cottage,  turn  the  children  out,  and  get  the 
money.  I  am  sorry  to  spoil  your  clothes  for  you,  but  you 
shall  all  have  an  extra  glass  of  grog  to-night — " 

"  And  you  shall  have  a  pudding  for  to-morrow's  dinner, 
seeing  it's  Sunday,"  added  Violet. 

"  And  a  merganser  apiece,"  suggested  Mr.  Miller,  with  a 
laugh. 

It  was  not  without  a  great  deal  of  arguing  that  the  old  wo- 
man would  consent  to  Alec's  going  up  to  the  cottage,  for  she 
evidently  suspected  he  meant  to  steal  her  fowls ;  and  when 
at  length  she  allowed  him  to  go,  she  went  with  him  as  guard, 
while  she  left  her  neighbor  to  look  after  the  others,  lest  they 
should  run  away  with  the  gander  and  leave  Alec  as  an  un- 
profitable hostage. 

Moreover,  when  they  came  back  from  the  cottage  they 
were  still  arguing  and  quarreling. 

"What  is  the  matter  now,  Alec?  Haven't  3'ou  found  the 
money  ?  " 

"  Ay,  I  hef  the  money,"  said  the  young  sailor,  showing  the 
two  notes  in  his  hand,  "  but  the  old  witch  she  will  want  the 
money  and  the  goose  too.;  an'  I  will  say  to  her  she  gets  far 
too  much  for  the  goose  ;  and  when  the  goose  is  paid  for,  it 
will  be  no  longer  belonging  to   her." 

"  Never  mind.  Alec.  Give  the  old  woman  the  money,  and 
her  gander  too.  They  were  together  in  their  lives,  and  in 
death  they  shall  not  be  divided.  Get  into  the  boat,  young 
people.  Good-day  to  you,  old  lady  :  beware  of  keeping  vain 
and  pretentious  ganders."  • 

So  they  stood  out  to  sea  again,  resolved  to  commit  no 
further  farm-yard  depredations.  And  indeed  they  were  fairly 
successful  in  another  direction ;  for,  having  by  slov/  degrees 
worked  this  way  and  that  across  the  loch,  they  had  driven 
the  birds  up  to  the  shallow  water  at  its  extremity,  and  here 
the  sea-fowl  would  inevitably  pass  them  again  rather  than  go 
inland.  As  for  the  wild  duck,  which  Alec  had  prophesied 
would  be  found  in  large  numbers  around  the  estuary  of  the 
small  river,  they  discovered  that  these  were  but  the  ubiqui- 
tous merganser ;  and  as  grave  doubts  existed  as  to  whether 
the  flesh  of  the  merganser  was  worth  its  salt,  they  were  more 
intent  on  getting  a  few  curlews,  with  perhaps  a  golden  plover 
or  two,  several  of  which  they  had  observed  beyond  range. 
Certainly,  when  they  got  up  to  the  head  of  the  loch,  there 


2o6  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

was  no  lack  of  birds.  In  every  direction  there  were  cries 
and  warning  whistles — some  flocks  rising  in  a  body  and  mak- 
ing off  round  the  shore,  others  separating  in  confusion  and 
making  straight  back  down  the  loch.  It  was  out  of  the  lat- 
ter that  they  made  their  bag.  In  the  noise  and  confusion, 
even  the  wary  curlew  occasionally  came  right  over  the  gig, 
and  there  was  a  sufficiently  fierce  discharge  of  ammunition. 
Product  of  the  day's  expedition  :  two  herons,  five  mergansers, 
five  curlews,  two  oyster-catchers,  and  three  sandpipers. 
Missing,  a  gander. 

It  was  a  long  pull  back  to  the  yacht,  and  Mr.  Drummond 
and  Miller  were  for  taking  a  turn  at  the  oars.  But  the  young 
fellows  would  not  hear  of  that :  perhaps  they  were  cheered  up 
by  the  promise  of  a  feast  on  the  morrow. 

And  so  the  gig  glided  down  between  the  silent  shores  of 
Loch  Tyachus — and  passed  the  islands  where  the  seals  were 
still  to  be  seen — and  got  through  the  narrow  channels  back 
into  the  bay  of  Loch  Sunart,  where  the  Sea-Pyot  lay  at  her 
anchorage.  It  had  been  a  long,  busy,  enjoyable  day ;  to  all 
appearance  no  gloomy  surmises,  no  anxious  thoughts  had 
interfered  with  the  pleasures  of  holiday-making. 

Violet  knew  nothing  of  these  surmises  and  anxieties  ;  and 
yet  she  could  not  help  asking  herself  how  it  was  that  Mr. 
Drummond  sometimes  spoke  as  he  had  spoken  while  they  sat 
on  the  rocks  after  luncheon — as  if  the  world  had  nothing 
further  for  him — as  if  life  were  of  but  little  account.  It  is 
true  that  these  utterances  had  no  taint  of  envy  nor  even  of 
disappointment  in  them  ;  perhaps,  indeed,  they  were  more  the 
result  of  hap-hazard  fancies  than  the  expression  of  personal 
feeling ;  and  yet  she  did  not  fail  to  detect  in  them  an  under- 
note  of  sadness.  She  knew  there  was  no  sacrifice  she  would 
not  gladly  undertake  for  the  happiness  of  this  the  best  of  all 
her  friends ;  but  how  could  she,  she  asked  herself,  a  mere 
girl,  affect  this  man's  estimate  of  life  1  She  was  his  pupil,  not 
his  teacher. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   CRISIS. 


But  Mr.  George  Miller  had  no  intention  of  nursing  his 
wrath  in  silence.  If  his  suspicions  were  correct — and  his 
suspicions  had  almost  become  convictions — he  would  have 
the  matter  out  at  once.     He  was  not  to  be  kept  dangling 


A  CRISIS.  2of 

after  a  woman  who  was  secretly  in  love  with  somebody  else ; 
if  that  were  so,  better  for  every  one  concerned  that  the  truth 
should  be  known  and  the  farce  come  to  an  end. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis.  Next 
day  was  Sunday — a  beautiful,  still,  brilliant  day,  with  the  sun- 
light lying  warm  on  the  grays  and  purples  of  rock  and  heather, 
on  the  bare  scaurs  of  the  granite  mountains,  on  the  light-blue 
stretches  of  water  around  the  islands  ;  and,  of  course,  church 
and  chapel  were  alike  unknown  in  this  remote  and  solitary 
place.  In  the  perfect  silence  they  could  vaguely  hear, 
through  the  open  hatchway  of  the  forecastle,  the  voice  of  one 
of  the  men  reading  from  a  Gaelic  Bible  to  his  companions. 
Mr.  Drummond,  lying  at  full  length  on.  the  deck,  partly  shel- 
tered from  the  sun  by  the  shadow  of  the  gig,  was  deeply  im- 
mersed in  a  book,  and  paid  no  attention  to  any  thing  that  was 
going  on.  He  would  not  even  stir  when  the  others  proposed 
to  go  on  shore  :  and  so  Young  Miller  hauled  up  the  dinghy  to 
the  side  of  the  yacht,  put  the  ladies  into  it,  and  himself  rowed 
them  in  to  the  land. 

It  was  a  beautiful  place  to  idle  through,  on  this  bright,  warm 
day.  A  road,  skirting  the  sea,  took  them  through  a  wilder- 
ness of  rock  and  fern,  of  heather  and  young  birch-trees,  of 
honeysuckle  bushes,  and  rowan-treeS  scarlet  with  berries ;  it 
led  them  past  mountain-streams  that  came  tumbling  down 
narrow  glens  into  clear  brown  pools  ;  it  took  them  through 
woods  of  young  oak  and  ash  ;  it  led  them  away  up  the  side  of 
a  mountain,  and  there,  turning  round  and  looking  back,  they 
beheld  a  marvelou?  net-work  of  islands — resembling  a  raised 
map — lying  in  the  still  blue  water,  each  island  having  a  fringe 
of  yellow  sea-weed  round  its  sl»ores.  Apparently,  the  only 
inhabitants  of  the  place  were  the  wild  duck  swimming  off  the 
nearest  point,  the  invisible  curlew  that  kept  whistling  and 
calling  each  other,  and  a  solitary  heron  standing  among  the 
sea-weed,  like  the  gray  ghost  of  a  bird  among  the  rich  brown. 

George  Miller  did  not  notice  many  of  these  things ;  he  was 
too  impatiently  waiting  for  a  chance  of  speaking  privately 
with  Violet :  and  at  first  it  seemed  as  though  he  never  would 
get  that  chance,  for  the  girl  kept  up  with  Mrs.  Warrener  and 
her  daughter,  who  were  in  front,  and  of  course  he  could  not 
ask  her  to  linger  behind.  At  last,  however,  the  opportunity 
occurred.  They  had  to  cross  a  deep  glen  by  means  of  a 
wooden  bridge  that  was  perhaps  eighty  or  ninety  feet  above 
the  water  below ;  and  here  Violet  paused  for  a  second  or  two 
to  cast  some  pebbles  down  into  the  clear  pool  between  the 
rocks  and  bushes. 


2o8  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  rather  peremptorily,  "  I  want  you  to 
speak  frankly  with  me  for  a  minute  or  two.  Let  them  go  on. 
I  think  it  is  time  we  had  some  sort  of  explanation." 

She  was  vexed  and  annoyed  that  she  should  become  the 
victim  of  those  recurrent  interviews  whenever  she  forgot  to 
avoid  being  alone  with  him ;  but  she  said  nothing.  She 
awaited  v»'hat  he  had  to  say  with  an  air  of  respectful  atten- 
tion. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  he,  speaking  rapidly.  "  I 
have  as  much  patience  as  most  men,  and  I  don't  wish  to 
bother  you ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  time  we  come  to  some  sort  of 
explanation ;  or  let  the  whole  thing  come  to  an  end." 

He  uttered  the  last  words  with  some  vehemence. 

"  Or  let  what  come  to  an  end  ? " 

"  The  sort  of  expectation,  or  understanding,  that  some  day 
you  will  become  my  wife." 

"  I  am  quite  willing  that  that  should  come  to  an  end." 

He  had  almost  expected  her  to  say  that ;  and  he  was  more 
angry  than  disappointed.  And  yet  he  endeavored  to  sup- 
press any  sign  of  mortification — partly  from  pride,  partly  from 
the  consciousness  that  an  exhibition  of  temper  could  avail 
him  but  little. 

"  It  is  no  use,  then,  my  waiting  any  longer.  You  have 
definitely  resolved  that  our  relations  should  cease  "i  " 

"  I — I  have  wished  that  they  should  cease,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice  ;  "  and  I  thought  you  knew  that — " 

"  And  your  reason  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  grieved  to  thinly  that  you  may  be 
hurt,  or  offended,  or  disappointed,"  she  continued,  not  no- 
ticing his  question.  "  And  when  you  said  you  would  rather 
wait,  I  thought  that  was  a  great  pity ;  but  now,  since  you 
think  it  better  all  this  should  end — " 

"  I  think  it  better  ?  "  said  he,  with  bitter  vehemence.  "  It 
is  you  who  think  it  better ;  and  if  you  will  not  tell  me  your 
reason,  I  will  tell  it  to  you.  You  think  you  have  been 
blinding  me  ?     No.     I  have  been  looking  on  at  the  farce." 

She  turned  her  large  eyes  upon  him  with  a  gaze  of  wonder 
and  inquiry ;  but.  he  did  not  fail  to  observe  that  her  face 
paled  somewhat. 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  she  said,  slowly. 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  blinded  me  ?  Haven't  I  seen  the 
pitiable  fashion  in  which  you  have  become  the  very  slave  of 
that  man — echoing  his  opinions  as  if  he  had  all  the  wisdom 
m  the  world — toadying  and  fawning  upon  him — " 

She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height. 


A  CRISIS.  209 

"  You  do  not  believe  what  you  say,"  she  said,  with  a  proud 
smile. 

"  I  do  know,"  he  said ;  and  now  he  had  lost  control  over 
himself,  and  his  wounded  vanity  made  him  talk  wildly.  "  I 
tell  you  that  all  the  v/orld  can  see  it — all  the  world  except 
himself,  perhaps,  for  he  is  only  a  baby.  And  you  know  what 
I  say  is  true.  Look  at  me  in  the  face — I  dare  you  look  at 
me  in  the  face — and  deny  that  you  love  the  man." 

That  was  a  challenge  ;  and  all  the  wild,  rebellious  blood 
in  the  girl  leaped  to  her  heart.  To  cringe  before  the  accuser 
— to  deny  the  one  highest  and  holiest  feeling  that  her  nature 
had  ever  known — that  could  not  be  Violet  North's  first  im- 
pulse at  such  a  moment.  There  was  a  strange,  proud  light 
on  her  pale  face  as  she  said, 

"  And  if  I  do  not  deny  it  "i  I  have  many  things  to  be 
ashamed  of :  not  that.  No ;  if  I  were  to  die  just  now,  I 
should  think  my  life  had  been  a  happy  one,  only  to  have 
known  such  a  man  as  a  friend." 

He  was  simply  thunderstruck.  He  had  seen  much,  and 
imagined  more  ;  but  for  this  be  was  not  prepared.  Then  the 
audacious  courage  of  the  girl  astounded  him.  What  could 
this  glad,  proud  light  on  her  face  mean,  but  that  her  whole 
being  was  wrapped  up  in  an  earnest,  unreasoning  devotion  ? 

He  knew  then  that  his  case  was  hopeless,  and  he  had 
sufficient  vanity  to  prompt  him  to  put  a  good  face  on  it. 

*'  I  suppose,"  said  he,  with  a  forced  smile,  "  that,  now  you 
have  been  so  frank,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  I  wish  you 
had  been  a  little  franker  some  time  ago — but  that  does  not 
matter  now.     Let  us  part  good  friends,  Violet." 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ? "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  cheerfully.  I  couldn'  tthink  of  dis- 
turbing your  domestic  peace.  Good-bye.  If  you  don't  go  on 
at  once,  Mrs  Warrener  will  be  coming  back  to  look  for  you." 

She  stood  irresolute,  but  she  allowed  him  to  shake  hands 
v/ith  her.     Then  he  turned  and  walked  away. 

"  Mr.  Miller  !  " 

He  stopped  and  looked  back.  She  advanced  to  him,  with 
her  eyes  bent  downward,  and  a  sort  of  tremble  about  her  lips, 

"  I  wish,"  she  said,  in  so  low  a  voice  that  he  could  scarcely 
hear  her,  "  to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  whatever  pain  I  may 
have  caused  you.  Believe  me,  I  am  very  sorry ;  I  thought 
at  one  time  it  might  have  ended  differently — " 

"  All  right,"  said  he.  "  Don't  trouble  about  that.  Good- 
bye, Violet." 


^210  MAD.CAP  VIOLET, 

He  turned  once  more,  and  went  off  down  the  hill,  leaving 
the  girl  to  rejoin  her  friends,  with  the  consciousness  at  her 
•heart  that  a  great  event  had  happened  in  her  life,  with  what 
probable  consequences  she  could  not  at  all  foresee.  She 
knew  that  it  was  better  for  both  that  this  definite  explanation 
should  have  been  made,  and  an  end  put  to  a  hopeless  condi- 
tion of  affairs  ;  and  yet  memory  went  back  over  the  past  two  or 
three  years  with  something  of  regret,  and  in  her  secret  heart 
She  was  hoping  that  her  now  discarded  lover  would  not  think 
too  harshly  of  her  in  the  time  to  come. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Miller,  Violet  1 "  asked  Mrs.  Warrener, 
when  Violet  had  joined  the  two  who  had  gone  on.     • 

"  He  has  gone  back  to  the  yacht." 

Her  friend  regarded  her  with  curious  eyes. 

"  You  have  been  quarreling  again,"  she  said. 

"  No,  not  at  all." 

"  Well,  you  will  get  to  the  end  of  these  disagreements  when 
you  marry,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  smile. 
"  That  is  always  the  way.  Young  people  are  always  quarrel- 
ing, because  they  are  jealous,  and  exacting,  and  unreasona- 
ble ;  they  get  to  know  each  other  better  when  they  are  mar- 
ried." 

The  girl's  cheeks  burned  red. 

"  There  is  no  use  speaking  of  that,  Mrs.  Warrener.  Mr. 
Miller  and  I  will  never  be  married." 

The  little  fair-haired  woman  laughed :  she  was  not  to  be 
deceived — she  had  observed  too  much  of  the  ways  of  young 
people  in  love. 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  said,  in  her  quiet,  shrewd  way. 
"  It  is  always  parting  for  ever  and  ever — over  the  wearing  of 
some  trinket,  or  the  giving  an  extra  dance  to  a  rival.  A 
solemn  farewell  for  life  ;  and  the  next  day  they  meet  and 
make  it  up  quite  easily.     What  is  it  all  about,  Violet .'' " 

"  If  you  please,  dear  Mrs.  Warrener,  I  would  rather  not 
speak  of  it,"  the  girl  said,  gently ;  and  there  was  an  end  of 
the  matter. 

But  as  George  Miller  went  down  the  hill  and  along  the 
shore  toward  the  bay  where  the  yacht  lay,  his  private  thoughts 
were  scarcely  so  composed  and  cheerful  as  his  manner  of 
bidding  good-bye  to  Violet  had  ostensibly  been.  It  was  not 
pleasant  for  a  business-like  young  man  to  know  that  he  had 
been  spending  two  or  three  years  of  his  life  in  chasing  a 
rainbow.  Then  there  would  be  the  confession  to  his  friends 
that  he  had  failed,  and  the  spectacle  of  this  girl  whom  he 
had  hoped  to  make  his  wife  publicly  declaring  that  she  pre- 


A  CRISIS.  211 

ferred  James  Drummond — a  man  of  eight-and-tliirty,  who 
would  cage  her  up  in  a  small  cottage  on  a  narrow  income, 
and  expect  her  to  become  a  sort  of  upper  housemaid.  Not 
much  chance  for  her  now  of  driving  in  the  Park,  which,  even 
as  a  girl,  she  had  enjoyed. 

What  fascination,  what  enchantment,  had  so  perverted  her 
mind  ?  The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  bitter  he  be- 
came, until  he  had  almost  persuaded  himself  that  his  rival 
had  been  for  years  trying  to  cajole  the  girl's  affections,  that 
he  might  marry  the  daughter  of  a  rich  man.  If  Mr.  Miller 
had  been  in  his  right  mind,  he  would  have  burst  out  laughing 
at  this  suggestion  ;  but  he  was  not  in  his  right  mind  ;  and  his 
jealous  fancy  brooded  over  the  idea  until  he  was  ready  to 
believe  that  the  small  yacht  out  there,  lying  peacefully  in  the 
ba}^,  contained  one  of  the  most  treacherous,  specious,  and 
malicious  villians  that  had  ever  cursed  the  world. 

He  got  into  the  dinghy  and  rov/ed  out  to  the  Sea-Fyot. 
Mr.  Drummond  got  up,  and  took  the  painter  from  him,  and 
helped  him  on  board. 

"  Where  are  the  others  ? "  he  said. 

"  Gone  on  farther  than  I  cared  to  go." 

He  sat  down  again  and  took  to  his  book  ;  the  younger 
man  went  below. 

In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Miller  came  up  to  the  top  of  the 
companion-stairs. 

"  Can  you  let  me  have  the  knife  I  lent  you  last  night  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  It  is  in  my  cabin  somewhere.  If  you  want  it,  I'll  go 
down  and  get  it." 

"  I  would  rather  have  it,"  was  the  answer. 

So  Mr.  Drummond  followed  him  down-stairs.  What  was 
his  surprise  to  see  that  Miller  had  put  on  the  table  of  the 
saloon  a  knapsack  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and  that 
it  was  partially  packed. 

"  What  are  you  about  ? "  he  said,  with  a  stare. 

"  I  mean  to  leave  you  now,"  the  young  man  said,  calmly. 
"  I  owe  you  fourteen  cartridges ;  there  they  are — they  are 
No.  4  ;  but  I  suppose  that  won't  matter.  Can  you  give  me 
the  penknife  ?  " 

James  Drummond  only  stared  the  more. 

"What  do  you  mean  1 " 

*'  What  I  tell  you.     I  am  leaving  the  yacht," 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 


212  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  shall  walk  over  to  Loch  x\line,  and  get  some  boat 
there." 

"Miller  what's  the  matter  with  you?  You  can't  walk 
over  to  Loch  Aline  to-day ;  you  don't  know  the  road :  I 
doubt  whether  there  is  an  inn  there." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  going,"  the  younger  man  said,  with 
a  sullen  determination. 

Most  men,  in  such  circumstances,  would  have  told  him  he 
might  go  a  deal  farther  than  Loch  Aline,  for  aught  they 
cared;  but  Mr.  Drummond  had  a  kindly  feehng  for  the 
young  man. 

"  Is  it  a  quarrel  with  Violet  ? " 

"  I  thought  you  would  hit  it,"  said  the  other,  with  an  evi- 
dent sneer.  "  I  see  you  have  expected  it.  Well,  are  you 
satisfied  1 " 

There  was  altogether  something  in  Miller's  face  that 
James  Drummond  could  not  understand.  He  began  to  won- 
der if  Miller  had  discovered  a  whisky-still  on  shore  and 
drunk  himself  mad.  But  he  had  not  to  wait  for  any  further 
explanation  ;  because  the  rising  passion  of  the  young  man 
broke  through  his  forced  composure,  and  he  began  pouring 
forth  a  torrent  of  angry  accusations.  Drummond  had  in- 
veigled away  the  girl  from  her  people  ;  he  had  flattered  her 
school-girl  vanity  by  making  a  companion  of  her ;  knowing 
that  she  was  practically  engaged  to  one  who  had  her  father's 
sanction,  he  had  treacherously  induced  her  to  break  her 
word;  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  Drummond  listened  to  all 
this  with  astonishment,  but  also  with  absolute  self-control. 

"  I  have  a  great  mind,"  said  he,  "  to  take  you  up  on  deck 
and  drop  you  overboard — that  might  cure  you  of  your  mad- 
ness.    Whoever  has  put  all  this  stuff  into  your  head  ?  " 

"  Don't  try  to  deceive  me  any  further  !  "  Miller  said,  with 
his  lips  white  with  angry  excitement.  "  You  have  done  it 
well  enough  already.  You  knew  I  was  to  marry  the  girl — 
you  knew  her  father  wished  it — and  yet  you  set  to  work  to 
draw  her  away  from  me." 

"  Then,  why  are  you  here  ? "  said  Drummond.  "  If  that 
was  my  design,  why  did  I  ask  you  to  join  us  here  1  It  seems 
to  me  that  looks  more  like  bringing  you  two  together." 

"  You  can't  blind  me  !  "  the  young  man  cried,  with  a  scorn- 
ful laugh.  *'  You  knew  the  mischief  was  done.  You  knew 
the  girl  was  ready  to  cut  off  her  hand  for  you,  if  you  asked 
it.     You  knew  that  she  gloried  in  her  infatuation — " 

''Look  here.  Miller!  "  said  James  Drummond,  with  a  dan- 
gerous contraction  of  the  brows,  "  I  believe  you  are  as  mad 


A  CRISIS.  213 

as  a  March  hare.  You  may  talk  nonsense  about  me  to 
your  heart's  content,  but  leave  Violet  out  of  it.  Gracious 
Heavens,  I  wonder  to  hear  you,  man  !  You  pretend  to  love 
the  girl ;  and  you  may  go  mad  like  this  with  childish  sur- 
mises. Why  not  go  frankly  to  her,  and  learn  for  yourself 
that  this  is  mere  dreaming  and  folly — " 

"  Yes,  and  then  ?  "  exclaimed  the  younger  man.  "  What 
then  ?  I  fmd  she  draws  herself  up — boasts  erf  her  love  for 
you — has  not  even  the  shamefacedness  to  deny  it — and  then 
you  pretend  you  know  nothing  about  it !     Bah !  " 

He  turned  to  the  knapsack,  and  continued  his  packing. 
For  a  second  or  two  James  Drummond  stood  absolutely 
silent. 

*'  Miller,  do  you  know  what  you  said  just  now  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Was  that  a  lie  ?  " 

"  You  know  it  was  no  lie.  You  have  stolen  the  girl  from 
me.     What  is  the  use  of  having  more  words  about  it .-' " 

Drummond  went  up  on  deck.  The  beautiful,  fair,  still 
world  around  him  seemed  part  of  a  dream  ;  he  could  have 
prayed  for  a  bolt  of  God's  lightning  to  break  the  awful  silence 
and  assure  him  that  he  lived.  He  was  in  a  trance  from 
which  he  could  not  escape  ;  he  was  a  dreamer  that  wrestles 
with  his  dream  and  strives  to  awake.  It  was  no  joy  to  this 
man  to  hear  that  a  young  girl  had  offered  him  the  treasure  of 
her  first  love.  An  infinite  sadness  filled  his  heart  and  blinded 
his  eyes ;  the  wild  pulsations  within  his  breast  seemed  so 
many  stabs  of  remorse  ;  his  imagination  was  stunned  by  a 
gloomy  sense  of  the  irrevocable. 

He  did  not  stir  when  George  Miller  came  up  on  deck. 
He  regarded  him  as  if  he  too  were  part  of  this  wild,  strange 
dream,  as  the  young  man  hauled  up  the  dinghy,  dropped  his 
knapsack  into  it,  and  got  in  himself. 

"Miller!" 

"  Well  ? " 

"  There  is  some  frightful  mistake  about  all  this.  Wait  till 
they  come  back." 

'•  No,  thank  you  ;  good-bye.  I  have  put  an  address  on  my 
gun-case  :  if  you  can  put  it  on  board  a  goods-steamer,  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  you." 

There  was  a  splash  of  the  dipping  oars,  and  the  small 
boat  drew  away  tow^ard  the  shore. 

It  vv^as  not  for  an  hour  after  that  James  Drummond  saw 
any  other  signs  of  life  along  that  solitary  coast ;  then  three 
figures  came  down  to  the  rocks,  and  a  shawl  was  waved. 


214  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

He  called  up  two  of  the  men  and  sent  them  ashore  with  the 
gig.  That  hour  of  self-communion  seemed  to  have  left  his 
face  somewhat  worn. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Miller  ? "  said  Mrs.  Warrener.  She 
guessed  he  had  gone,  when  she  saw  the  dinghy  on  shore. 

"  He  is  gone  away — to  Loch  Aline,"  said  Mr.  Drummond, 
calmly.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  Violet  by  herself  about  this. 
Violet,  will  you  come  down  to  the  saloon  for  a  minute  ?  " 

She  follo\ved  him  down  the  steps  and  into  the  saloon  ;  and 
he  shut  the  door.  She  was  trembling  a  little,  why,  she 
scarcely  knew ;  nor  could  she  understand  the  great  sadness 
of  his  face  as  he  regarded  her. 

"  Violet,"  he  said,  "  is  it  true  what  he  sa3^s  ?  " 

She  involuntarily  retreated  an  inch  or  two,  and  her  fingers 
were  clenched  in  on  the  palms  of  her.  hands. 

"  He  told  you,  then  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes.  Let  us  be  frank.  It  is  not  true — my  child,  my 
child,  you  must  tell  me  it  is-not  true." 

He  clasped  her  hands  in  his,  and  for  a  second  she  was 
frightened  by  the  intensity  of  emotion  visible  in  his  face. 
But  her  native  courage  did  not  forsake  her.  Her  face  was 
white  enough;  but  she  said,  without  a  quiver  in  the  low 
voice, 

"  And  why  do  you  wish  me  to  say  that  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know — don't  you  know,  my  poor  child  ?  Have 
I  kept  my  secret  so  well  ?  Don't  you  know  how  I  have 
loved  you,  and  hidden  away  all  my  love  for  you — so  that  I 
thought  you  had  not  even  a  suspicion  of  it  that  would  grieve 
you — all  to  see  you  happy  as  a  young  girl  should  be  happy, 
with  a  young  husband,  and  plenty  of  friends,  and  a  bright, 
gay  world  before  her  ?  And  now — have  I  betrayed  my  trust 
— but,  Violet,  it  can  not  be  true — you  have  had  a  quarrel — " 

She  had  been  drinking  in  every  word — her  pathetic,  anxious 
face  turned  up  to  his,  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears  ;  and  when 
she  seemed  fully  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  his  words, 
he  was  suddenly  interrupted.  She  uttered  a  quick,  low  cry 
of  joy,  and  hid  her  face  in  his  bosom.  The  assurance  she 
had  longed  for  was  given. 

He  put  his  two  hands  on  the  rich  folds  of  dark  hair,  and 
put  back  her  head,  and  looked  down  into  her  eyes  with  a 
wonderful  tenderness  and  sadness  in  his  look. 

"  What  is  done  can  not  be  undone ;  I  wish,  for  your  sake, 
child,  it  could.  I  have  destroyed  your  life  for  you — you,  a 
young  girl,  just  beginning  to  know  how  fresh  and  beautiful 
the  world  is — " 


A  CRISIS.  ^15 

"  Did  I  know  it  was  beautiful  until  you  taught  me  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Have  you  not  shown  me  what  it  is 
to  be  gentle  and  noble  and  unselfish  ?  When  I  have  been  in 
your  house  I  have  been  happy  ?  outside  of  it,  never.  And  I 
thank  God  for  giving  me  such  a  friend." 

"A  friend — if  it  had  only  remained  at  that,"  he  said. 
"That  would  have  been  better  for  you,  Violet." 

Her  answer  was  a  singular  one.  She  gently  released  her- 
self from  his  embrace.  She  took  up  his  hand,  and  timidly 
kissed  it. 

"  You  are  more  than  my  friend  :  you  are  my  lord  and  mas- 
ter," the  girl  said,  with  a  proud  humility ;  and  then  she 
silently  opened  the  door  and  went  out.  That  interview  was 
something  for  a  man  to  think  of  during  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Now  during  the  remainder  of  that  day  some  shade  of  mel- 
ancholy seemed  to  hang  about  the  spirits  of  this  little  party 
of  travelers,  which  Mrs.  Warrener  naturally  attributed  to  the. 
fact  of  Violet  having  quarreled  with  her  sweetheart.  She 
would  have  the  map  examined  to  see  the  number  of  miles  ; 
and  hoped  he  would,  if  he  failed  to  reach  the  place,  have 
sufficient  sense  to  claim  hospitality  from*  some  farmer.  Amy 
was  inclined  to  be  cross  with  her  friend  ;  for  she  could  not 
understand  why  a  girl  who  was  so  amiably  disposed  toward 
those  around  her  should  be  so  cruel  to  a  gentleman  who  paid 
her  the  compliment  of  asking  her  to  become  his  wife.  On 
the  other  hand,  Violet  was  more  than  ordinarily  affectionate 
toward  her  former  school-companion ;  and,  not  content  with 
giving  her  a  couple  of  lace  handkerchiefs  which  had  somehow 
got  among  her  things,  would  press  on  her  acceptance  the 
much  more  valuable  box  of  elaborately  cut  ivory  which  con- 
tained them. 

"  Do  you  know,  Violet,"  the  girl  remarked,  "  what  mamma 
said  about  you  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  I  hope  it  was  something  very  nice." 

"  She  said  it  was  a  good  thing  for  you  your  ears  were  fas- 
tened to  your  head." 

"  Because  otherwise  I'd  lose  them  ?  " 

"  No  ;  because  otherwise  you'd  give  them  away.  I  don't 
know  how  you  manage  to  keep  any  thing." 

The  calm  afternoon  wore  away.  They  had  a  quiet  dinner 
in  the  saloon  in  the  evening ;  after  dinner  thay  sat  up  on 
deck,  in  the  warm  night-air,  to  watch  the  moonlight  rise  over 
the  black  hills ;  then  by-and-by  the  ladies  went  below,  and 
James  Drummond  was  left  alone. 

Spmehow,  as  he  sat  there  and  bethought  him  of  all  that 


2i6  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

had  happened  during  the  day,  and  of  the  new  future  that  lay 
before  him,  a  singular  and  glad  change  of  feeling  set  in.  He 
would  accept  the  great  gift  that  had  been  given  him,  not  to 
rejoice  over  it  as  an  acquisition,  but  to  cherish  it  tenderly  as 
a  trust.  If  it  did  seem  so  that  this  girl  had  placed  her  future 
in  his  hands,  he  would  requite  her  confidence  with  an  un- 
ceasing love  and  devotion.  Nay,  he  grew  bolder  than  that. 
He  would  take  it  that  the  highest  point  in  his  life,  too,  had 
been  reached  :  long  after  he  had  hoped  for  such  a  thing,  the 
bright,  beautiful  time  of  existence  had  arrived — the  year  had 
its  spring-time  in  it — the  singing  season  of  the  birds  was  not 
yet  over — there  was  sweet  roses  yet  unblown,  and  a  woman's 
heart  and  eyes  to  grow  proud  and  glad  at  his  approach.  At 
last — at  last !  All  the  happy  centuries  the  world  had  rolled 
through  seemed  but  to  have  led  up  to  this  one  culminating  joy. 
Now  the  heart  might  break — now  life  might  go — since  the 
best  the  world  contained  had  been  pressed  to  his  bosom  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LOVE  WENT  A-SAILING. 

It  was  impossible  for  this  girl — young  as  she  was,  and 
ignorant  as  she  was  of  many  common  experiences — it  was 
simply  impossible  for  her  to  love  where  she  did  not  respect 
and  honor.  Her  whole  nature  would  have  risen  in  revolt 
against  an  "  infatuation."  If  by  some  mishap  her  heart  had 
got  entangled  where  her  head  could  not  approve,  she  would 
have  crushed  the  growing  sentiment  at  any  cost.  And  thus 
it  was,  after  a  gallant  and  loyal  endeavor  to  see  the  best  in 
George  Miller — partly  because  she  retained  some  trace  of  her 
old  school-girl  interest  in  him,  partly  because  she  dreaded  the 
reproach  of  having  encouraged  him  to  no  purpose— rshe  had 
at  last,  when  driven  into  a  corner,  refused  him  point-blank. 
Hitherto,  indeed,  there  had  not  been  the  remotest  chance  of 
her  marrying  the  young  man,  though  neither  he  nor  she  was 
aware  of  the  fact.  Considering  herself  as,  in  a  measure, 
bound  to  him,  she  had  done  what  she  could  to  blind  herself 
to  his  real  nature  ;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Her  clear,  shrewd 
perception  was  not  to  be  dulled  by  arguments  or  reasons  ad- 
dressed by  herself  to  herself :  behind  the  winning  and  grace- 
ful exterior  of  the  young  man  she  saw  only  poor  aims  and 
narrow  sympathies,  the  mean  ambitions  and  contracted  pre- 


LOVE  WENT  AS  A I  LING.  217 

judices  of  the  hopelessly  commonplace.  It  was  with  no 
sense  of  doing  any  thing  remarkable  or  noble  that  this  girl  of 
twenty  threw  away  her  chances  of  marriage  with  a  young, 
rich,  and  singularly  handsome  man ;  preferring  the  mere 
friendship  of  one  who  was  much  her  senior,  who  was  whim- 
sical, provoking,  erratic,  and  who  was  very  much  given  to 
making  fun  of  her.  There  was  no  choice  at  all  for  her. 
Young  as  she  was,  she  was  fascinated  by  the  charm  of  un- 
w^orldliness  about  this  man's  character,  by  the  thousand 
quick  glancing  beauties  of  his  mental  nature,  and  by  the  gen- 
tle kindliness  and  thoughtfulness  of  his  outward  acts.  In 
his  society  she  felt  that  she  breathed  a  freer  intellectual  at- 
mosphere ;  life  was  not  all  bank-accounts  and  Bayswater. 
She  was  his  humble  disciple  ;  he,  her  master  ;  she  was  con- 
tent to  sit  at  his  feet  and  listen. 

But  who  can  tell  of  the  proud  and  glad  delight  with  which 
she  knew  for  the  first  time  that  this  her  wistful  worship  had 
met  with  a  far  higher  reward ;  that  he  whom  of  all  men  she 
most  regarded  with  love  and  admiration  had  hidden  her  as 
the  secret  treasure  of  his  bosom ;  that,  instead  of  the  clear, 
cold  light  of  an  intellectual  friendship — beautiful,  indeed,  but 
pale  as  winter  sunshine — there  was  burning  for  her  a  brighter, 
and  warmer,  and  more  beautiful  fire  on  the  very  hearth-stone 
of  his  heart  .'*  The  joy  of  it !  Her  whole  being  seemed 
transfused  with  gratitude ;  the  world  was  a  beautiful  and 
friendly  world  :  what  had  she  done  to  deserve  this  great  hap- 
piness ?  At  first  she  could  scarcely  understand  it  or  believe 
it  at  all ;  the  shock  of  the  surprise  was  too  great ;  then,  by 
slow  degrees,  she  tried  to  realize  her  position.  But  not  for 
one  moment  did  any  thought  of  communicating  this  discover}^ 
or  of  making  any  arrangements  as  to  the  future,  enter  into 
her  mind;  and  the  same  might  be  said  of  him  too.  To  both 
it  v/as  merely  a  happy  consciousness,  an  understanding  be- 
tween themselves  which  was  too  sacred  for  the  outward  world 
to  know.  Neither  wished  to  proclaim  the  good  fortune  that 
had  befallen  them ;  the  babblers  on  the  house-tops  had 
enough  to  interest  them.  It  is  very  doubtful,  indeed,  whether 
either  ever  thought  of  looking  forward  to  their  marriage  :  it 
v/as  enough  for  him  that  in  the  mean  time  he  had  a  better 
right  than  ever  to  extend  a  tender,  protecting  care  over  the 
wayward  girl ;  it  was  occupation  for  her  to  study  how  she 
could  best  be  grateful  for  this  great  happiness  by  placing  her 
meek  service  at  the  feet  of  her  "  lord  and  master." 

How  rapidly  her  life  seemed  to  grow  and  enlarge,  minute 
by  minute  1     She  had  dawdled  over  years,  with  half-developed 


2i8  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

sentiments  and  school-girl  fancies,  and  the  years  seemed  no 
more  than  hours  ;  now  the  hours,  full  of  the  experiences  of  a  wo- 
man, were  as  many  years.  She  remembered  with  a  kind  of 
dismay  that  she  had  at  one  time  regarded  Mr.  Drummond 
as  an  elderly  man — as  a  person  to  be  treated  with  fear  and 
respect  rather  than  with  an  intimate  confidence.  What  were 
the  actural  facts  of  the  case  ?  She  was  twenty ;  he  w^as 
thirty-eight.  Eighteen  years  made  a  great  difference — thus 
she  argued  with  herself — on  paper  ;  but  what  difference  did 
they  make  between  him  and  her  ?  She  had  grown  old,  had 
become  a  woman,  in  two  or  three  years ;  the  same  period  of 
time  had  made  no  difference  at  all  to  him.  He  appeared  to 
discovered  the  fountain  of  perpetual  youth.  Was  there  any 
man  she  knew,  young  or  old,  who  had  such  an  irresistible 
gayety  of  spirits,  such  a  fascinating  brilliancy  of  life  ?  And 
then,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  proud  smile  on  her  lips,  if 
his  hair  were  as  white  as  snow,  and  his  step  as  feeble  as  now 
it  w^as  quick  and  eager,  and  his  eyes  clouded  over  with  care, 
she  would  none  the  less  be  his  meek  disciple  and  his  faithful 
friend,  considering  herself  honored  among  women  if  only  he 
would  accept  the  utmost  treasures  of  her  love  and  devotion. 
Such  a  love  as  this — and  it  suffused  the  whole  nature  of  the 
girl,  her  mind  as  well  as  her  heart — could  not  well  be  affected 
by  years. 

But  all  this  was  of  the  inner  life — a  secret  sacred  to  them- 
selves ;  their  outer  life  was  much  as  usual.  He  was  too 
fond  of  mischief,  and  she  was  too  quick-spirited  in  resenting 
it,  to  allow  any  unnecessary  seriousness  to  embarrass  their 
outward  relations.  If  their  regard  for  each  other  was  both 
grave  and  tender,  their  manner  toward  each  other  was  even 
a  trifle  more  defiant  than  of  yore;  until  Mrs.  Warrener  had 
to  intervene  and  rebuke  her  brother  for  ^  teasing  the  girl. 
His  plea  was  that  people  always  quarreled  on  board  ship,  es- 
pecially in  a  dead  calm  ;  and  that  as  soon  as  the  Sea-Fyot 
got  out  of  Loch  Sunart,  Violet  and  he  would  be  friends 
again. 

That  happened  about  four  o'clock  on  the  Monday. 

"  Violet,"  he  called  down  to  the  cabin,  "  come  on  deck  ! 
A  fine  breeze  has  sprung  up  ;  we  are  getting  under  way  ;  and 
we  can't  bowse  the  bobstay  until  you  appear !  " 

When  she  came  on  deck,  and  looked  around,  there  was 
certainly  enough  bustle  going  forward.  Captain  Jimmy  was 
rather  anxious  to  get  out  of  this  land-locked  little  bay  ;  and 
as  the  breeze  had  sprung  up  quite  suddenly,  the  resolve  to 
get  out  to  sea  was  quite  as  sudden.     At  last  something  of 


LOVE  WENT  A-SAILING.  i\c^ 

quiet  prevailed ;  and  the  plasli  of  water  began  to  be  heard 
along  the  side  of  the  Sea-Pyot. 

"  Where  do  we  go  now  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Away  to  the  north — anywhere — wherever  the  wind  takes 
us.  If  the  breeze  keeps  up,  we  will  make  Isle  Ornsay  to-night, 
and  to-morrow  morning  you  will  find  yourself  under  the  moun- 
tains of  Skye." 

Was  it  the  absence  of  a  certain  gloomy-tempered  young 
man,  or  the  new  sense  of  motion  and  activity  in  getting  away 
from  the  still  loch,  that  seemed  to  arouse  the  spirits  of  all  on 
board  1  Mrs.  Warrener  fetched  up  a  bottle  of  whisky,  and 
served  out  a  glass  all  round  to  the  men,  to  the  celebrate  their 
departure ;  her  brother — humming  to  himself,  in  a  doleful 
manner, 

"  Yo,  heave,  ho  ! 
II  etait  beau, 
Le  postilion  de  Lonjumeau !  " — 

generally  stood  by  to  let  draw  the  foresail  sheet  when  the  ves- 
sel was  put  about ;  while  Miss  Violet  and  her  companion  Amy 
were  listening  with  great  interest  to  some  perfectly  preposter- 
ous stories  which  Captain  Jimmy,  who  was  at  the  tiller,  was 
telling  about  the  beautiful  whisky  made  by  tlie  illicit  stills  in 
his  youth.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  brisk  animation  on 
board,  indeed ;  for  they  were  beating  down  to  the  mouth  of 
the  loch,  and  the  constant  tacking  in  this  comparatively  nar- 
row channel  required  some  watching  and  quick  work.  The 
skipper  took  it  very  easy,  however.  Sure  of  his  knowledge 
of  the  coast,  and  sure  of  his  men,  he  did  not  cease  to  regale 
the  two  young  ladies  with  tales  which  were  of  very  doubtful 
authenticity;  while  his  ruddy,  good-natured  face  occasionally 
broadened  into  a  smile  at  some  profound  joke  of  his  own  mak- 
ing. It  was  universally  admitted  that  J^och  Sunart  was  a  very 
beautiful  place,  but  they  were  not  sorry  once  more  to  get  out 
to  sea. 

Now,  by  the  time  they  had  got  clear  of  Loch  Sunart  out  into 
the  mouth  of  the  Sound  of  Mull,  a  rich  golden  glow  was  over  the 
western  sky,  and  the  open  Atlantic  before  them  had  its  blue 
waves  splashed  with  yellow  fire.  They  were  running  along 
swiftly  with  the  wind  on  the  port  beam  ;  and  the  farther  ouc 
they  got  to  sea,  the  more  wonderful  became  this  v/orld  of  li^ht 
and  color.  Far  away  at  the  horizon  lay  a  long,  low  island, 
that  seemed  almost  transparent  in  the  burning  glow  ;  and  then, 
as  they  got  well  round  Ardnamurchan,  they  beheld  in  the 
paler  north  the  ghostly  mountains  of  another  island,  resting  on 
the  sea  like  clouds.     Unhappily,  however,  as  the  colors  in  this 


220  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

world  of  water  and  sky  grew  richer  and  deeper,  the  wind  grad- 
ually fell.  The  sea  still  rolled  in  its  gold  and  purple  all  around 
them ;  but  the  great  mainsail  occasionally  gave  an  ominous 
flap  ;  and  as  the  evening  wore  on,  the  question  was  propounded 
whether  they  might  not  be  rolling  out  here  all  night,  unable 
either  to  go  on  or  to  go  back.  They  did  not  grumble.  Even 
the  worst  that  might  befall  them  was  far  from  being  misery. 
They  sat  on  the  deck  and  watched  the  gradual  change.  An 
island  at  the  horizon  became  of  a  rich  dark  purple,  under  a 
streak  of  pale  salmon-colored  sky ;  above  that  there  was  a 
clear  expanse  of  golden  green,  fading  into  cold  grays,  and  ter- 
minating in  a  dark-blue  overhead.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
vessel,  a  couple  of  miles  off,  lay  the  main-land — a  series  of 
dark  and  mountainous  precipices  stretching  down  to  the  point 
of  Ardnamurchan ;  and  now,  as  they  waited  and  watched,  a 
pale-yellow  radiance  appeared  over  these  mountains,  and  the 
moon  arose  into  the  clear  purple  vault.  The  mists  on  the 
western  horizon  disappeared  ;  the  sun,  a  glowing  orb  of  crim- 
son, was  sinking  behind  the  sea.  They  were  eager  to  see 
the  actual  dip  of  this  mass  of  fire  ;  but  now  a  great  vessel, 
with  all  her  sails  set,  and  looking  large  because  of  her  intense 
blackness,  moved  slowly  across.  She,  too,  seemed  to  be  at 
the  horizon  ;  perhaps  she  got  more  wind  farther  out ;  at  all 
events,  she  moved  slowly  on  through  the  red  glory  the  sun  had 
left  behind  him.  Now  another  light  appeared,  glimmering 
through  the  sky-light  of  the  saloon,  and  the  faint  tinkling  of 
Duncan's  bell  summoned  them  dov^^n  below. 

When  they  came  up  on  deck  again,  with  shawls  and  wrap- 
pers, all  the  magic  of  a  summer  night  at  sea  was  around  them. 
It  was  of  no  concern  to  them  that  the  great  sheet  of  canvas 
hung  loose  and  limp  from  gaff  to  boom  :  whatever  wind  there 
was  was  dead  aft,  and  they  still  managed  to  creep  on  a  bit ; 
for  the  rest,  it  would  not  have  much  mattered  had  they  been 
absolutely  stationary.  When  again  in  their  life-time  would 
they  be  likely  to  be  in  such  a  scene  ? — the  mystery  of  the  sea 
and  the  silence  of  the  night  around  them ;  the  yellow  moon 
filling  the  cloudless  sky  and  touching  here  and  there  the  roll- 
ing waves ;  the  far  heights  of  the  main-land  becoming  clearer 
under  this  wan  radiance.  It  was  a  night  of  romance,  of  won- 
der and  joy,  to  be  forever  memorable  to  at  least  two  of  those 
figures  sitting  on  the  white  deck.  Here  they  were,  cut  off 
from  all  the  world— their  home  a  small  craft  tossing  on  the 
open  waters  of  the  Atlantic — their  two  companions  their  clos- 
est and  dearest  friends — life  had  no  more  to  give.  The  time 
went  by  with  talk  and  laughter,  with  snatches  of  song,  and 


LOVE  WENT  A-SAILING.  221 

with  a  silence  sweeter  than  either,  for  it  was  more  in  harmony 
with  the  beauty  and  the  mystery  of  the  night.  They  watched 
the  stars  grow  more  brilliant  as  the  moon  went  down  toward 
the  south.  Far  away  over  the  noiseless  sea  a  gleaming  point 
of  fire  burned  under  the  dark  precipices — that  was  Ardnamur- 
chan  light-house.  The  moon  got  farther  down,  until  at  last 
it  reached  the  horizon,  and  then  a  wonderful  sight  was  seen, 
as  of  a  ship  blazing  in  the  night.  Some  clouds  at  the  horizon 
had  got  before  the  setting  moon — there  was  a  strange,  awful, 
confused  glory  of  yellow  fire — and  then  that  faded  out,  and 
the  world  was  left  with  the  paler  light  of  millions  of  stars  that 
shone  down  on  the  black  islands  and  the  sea. 

What  this  man  thought  of,  during  those  periods  of  silence,  in 
the  wistful  sadness  of  the  night,  is  not  to  be  put  down  here, 
to  be  read  in  a  railway  train,  or  yawned  over  after  dinner. 
But  sometimes,  indeed,  his  fancy  took  a  more  playful  turn, 
and  pleased  itself  by  adorning  the  girl  sitting  beside  him  with 
all  sorts  of  imaginary  graces  such  as  were  beloved  by  the  old 
lyrical  writers.  They  had  been  humming  certain  of  these 
quaint  verses ;  he,  in  silence,  saw  before  him  the  noble  and 
beautiful  dames  and  maidens  whom  they  celebrated ;  he  trans- 
ferred— merely  for  amusement's  sake,  and  because  he  had  a 
purely  intellectual  delight  in  his  love  for  her,  which  was  now 
allowed  ample  liberty  of  indulgence — he  transferred  to  her 
these  graces,  and  excellences,  and  quaint  divergences  of  char- 
acter. She  was  the  gay  Campaspe  who  robbed  Cupid  of  his 
bow  and  arrows ;  she  was  the  fair  Pamela,  matchless  in  her 
dignity;  she  was  Cynthia,  the  forest's  queen,  at  sight  of  whom 
the  glad  birds  began  to  sing ;  she  was  Lucasta,  Althea,  and, 
perhaps  more  than  all,  that  tender  Chloe  "  who  wished  her- 
self young  enough  for  me."  Or  was  she  not  rather  the  queenly 
maiden  of  the  Epithalamion — " 

"  Now  is  my  love  all  ready  forth  to  come  ; 
Let  all  the  virgins  therefore  well  await ; 
And  ye,  fresh  boys,  that  tend  upon  her  groom, 
Prepare  yourselves,  for  he  is  coming  straight : 
Set  all  your  things  in  seemly  good  arra}', 
Fit  for  so  joyful  day  ; 
The  joyfulest  day  that  ever  sun  did  see. 
Fair  sun  !  show  forth  thy  favorable  ray, 
And  let  thy  lifeful  heat  not  fervent  be 
For  fear  of  burning  her  sunshiny  face, 
Her  beauty  to  disgrace. 
O  fairest  Phoebus  !  father  of  the  Muse  ! 
If  ever  I  did  honor  thee  aright. 
Or  sing  the  thing  that  might  thy  mind  delight, 
Do  not  thy  servant's  simple  boon  refuse, 


222  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

But  let  this  day — let  this  one  day — be  mine ; 

Let  all  the  rest  be  thine  ! 

Then  I  thy  sovereign  praises  loud  will  sing, 

That  all  the  woods  shall  answer,  and  their  echo  ring." 

And  as  for  her — as  she  sat  there  in  the  clear  starlight,  with 
her  arm  round  Amy's  waist,  sometimes  looking  out  on  the 
dark  Atlantic,  at  other  times  at  the  ruddy  and  cheerful  glow 
of  the  skylight  over  the  saloon  ?  Well,  she  had  less  acquaint- 
ance than  he  with  these  literary  celebrities ;  but  if  she  had 
wished  to  choose  out  one  of  the  songs,  snatches  of  which  they 
had  been  humming  or  singing,  to  convey  the  deepest  feeling 
of  her  heart,  she  knew  well  which  one  that  would  be : 

**  Bid  that  heart  stay,  and  it  will  stay 
To  honor  thy  decree  ; 
Or  bid  it  languish  quite  away 
And  't  shall  do  so  for  thee  : 
Bid  me  to  weep,  and  I  will  weep 
While  I  have  eyes  to  see ; 
And,  having  none,  yet  I  will  keep 
A  heart  to  weep  for  thee." 

It  was  of  no  consequence  to  her  that  these  words  are  supposed 
to  be  addressed  to  an  imperious  woman  by  her  humble  lover ; 
it  was  enough  for  her  that  they  conveyed  a  perfect  expression 
of  her  absolute  self-surrender,  of  her  love,  and  respect,  and 
meek  humility. 

"  Bid  me  despair,  and  I'll  despair, 
Under  that  cypress-tree. 
Or  bid  me  die,  and  I  will  dare 
E'en  death,  to  die  for  thee  ! 
Thou  art  my  life,  my  love,  my  heart, 
The  very  eyes  of  me — " 

Was  not  this  absolutely  true  ?  She  saw  things  as  he  saw 
them ;  she  was  schooling  herself  to  have  scarcely  an  opinion 
of  her  own.  And  when  she  asked  herself,  during  the  still- 
ness of  this  magical  night,  whether  in  sober  fact  she  could  die 
to  please  this  man  whom  she  loved,  she  did  not  answer  (even 
in  her  imagination)  with  rhetorical  phrases,  but  the  proud 
swelling  of  her  heart  was  to  herself  sufficient  response. 

The  dark  sea  lapped  all  around  the  boat ;  the  yellow  star 
of  Ardnamurchan  light-house  was  still  visible  far  away  in  the 
south  ;  and  the  point  of  the  topmast,  as  the  vessel  rolled,  wan- 
dered among  the  gleaming  jewels  of  Cassiopeia,  now  right 
overhead.  What  o'clock  was  it  ?  They  did  not  care.  They 
chatted,  hummed  snatches  of  songs,  or  sat  quiet  to  listen  to 


FOREBODINGS.  223 

one  of  the  sailors,  who,  on  the  lookout  at  the  bow,  was  singing 
to  himself,  "  Farewell,  farewell  to  Finnorie  !  " 

Strangely  enough,  too,  neither  of  these  two  found  any  con- 
straint or  embarrassment  in  the  continual  company  which  is 
thrust  upon  one  on  board  a  yacht.  They  had  no  secrets  but 
the  one  great  secret ;  and  of  that  they  did  not  care  to  speak 
even  to  each  other.  What  could  be  the  good  of  talking  over 
this  sacred  treasure,  which  the  bountiful  heavens  had  so  sud- 
denly given  them  ?  At  this  point  in  their  lives  they  w^ere  ab- 
solutely content.  To  exist  was  happiness ;  they  troubled  them- 
selves little  about  the  future  ;  they  did  not  wish  to  consult  in  se- 
cret over  plans ;  they  had  an  abundant  faith  in  each  other ;  they 
were  independent  of  the  interference  or  opinion  of  friends. 
That  was,  indeed,  a  beautiful,  happy  night,  long  to  be  remem- 
bered. 

But  in  course  of  time,  as  there  seemed  little  likelihood  of 
the  Sea-Pyot  reaching  Isle  Ornsay  before  day-break,  they 
were  forced  to  go  below,  with  great  regret.  Somehow  Violet 
North  did  not  sleep  much  for  the  remainder  of  that  night ; 
not,  indeed,  until  after  she  had  heard,  in  the  clear  light  of  the 
dawn,  the  loud  roar  and  rattle  of  the  anchor  going  down.  In 
the  stillness  and  darkness  of  the  little  cabin  she  lay  and 
thought  of  many  things,  and  these  not  of  the  saddest ;  while 
the  lapping  of  the  waves  without,  that  she  could  but  faintly 
hear,  was  a  sort  of  lullaby  to  her.  Were  these  not  strange 
phrases,  too,  interfused  with  that  monotonous  sound,  and  com- 
ing wandering  in  among  her  wistful  fancies  of  all  that  she  was 
to  do  to  prove  her  love  and  gratitude — such  phrases  as  these  : 
"  Bid  me  to  live  "  — "  Thou  art  my  life,  my  love,  my  heart " 
— "  The  very  eyes  of  me." 

And  then  at  last,  as  the  first  sunbeam  of  the  morning  glim- 
mered through  the  sky-light,  and  as  the  vessel  ceased  from 
moving,  those  glad  and  busy  fancies  departed  one  by  one,- 
and  happiness  rocked  her  heart  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


FOREBODINGS. 


When  she  v/ent  on  deck  the  following  morning,  the  first 
shock  of  the  marvelous  beauty  around  her  bewildered  her  for 
a  moment,  and  in  spite  of  herself  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 
Over  there  were  the  splendid  waters  of  the  Sound  of  Sleat 


224  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

rushing  in  darkened  blue  before  the  fresh,  strong  breeze  of 
morning;  beyond  this  glowing  and  dazzling  sea  stood  the 
great  mystic  masses  of  mountains  around  Loch  Hourn,  show- 
ing wonderful  hues  of  crimson  and  purple,  and  blue,  soft  and 
pale  like  some  ethereal  velvet ;  close  at  hand  was  the  neck  of 
land  that  inclosed  the  little  bay,  running  out  to  the  light-house 
point,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  bay  the  bright,  warm  shores  of 
the  island  of  Skye.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the  freshness  of 
the  sea ;  the  sunlight  flashed  on  the  rushing  waves  :  where 
could  she  find  in  all  the  world  a  more  splendid  panorama  of 
mountains,  sea,  and  sky? 

James  Drummond  was  alone  on  deck.  When  he  took  her 
hand,  she  meekly  waited  until  he  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  : 
that  was  thereafter  to  be  their  morning  greeting. 

"We  shall  remember  these  days  in  the  Highlands,"  he  said. 

"  Each  of  them  is  worth  many  years  to  me." 

She  looked  up ;  and  then  for  the  first  time  he  noticed  that 
her  eyelashes  were  wet. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  remember  them  with  pain,"  she  said 
quickly,  struck  with  something  in  his  tone. 

"  No  ;  why  should  we  ?  But  what  has  been  troubling  vou, 
Violet  ? " 

She  began  to  laugh  through  her  tears. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"  If  it  is  no  very  terrible  secret." 

"  This  has  been  troubling  me — too  much  happiness.  .And 
it  is  to  you  I  owe  it  all — every  thing — my  being  here,  and  all 
that  followed." 

The  extreme  self-abnegation  of  the  girl  touched  him  deeply. 
It  was  not  a  thing  to  be  idly  argued  away  with  commonplace 
phrases. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  put  your  arm  in  mine,  and 
we  will  go  for  our  morning  walk,  Violet." 

They  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  deck.  It  would 
have  gladdened  the  heart  of  the  merest  stranger  to  have  seen 
the  brightness  of  this  girl's  face. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  write  about  next  ?  "  she  asked, 
humbly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "  Holiday-making  is 
our  business  at  present." 

"  When  I  was  in  Canada,"  she  observed^  "  I  copied  a  great 
many  of  papa's  letters." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  not  catching  her  drift. 

"  I  can  copy  manuscript." 

"Yes." 


FOREBODINGS.  225 

He  would  not  see. 

"  If — "  she  said,  in  desperation — "  do  you  think — that  I — 
that  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  you  when  you  are  writing  ? — any 
use  at  all — " 

He  stopped ;  and  she  cast  her  eyes  down — blushing  and 
embarrassed.  With  both  hands  he  gently  pushed  the  beauti- 
ful hair  back  from  her  forehead,  and  raised  her  face  a  bit,' 
and  regarded  her  with  a  great  kindliness,  with  perhaps  a 
touch  of  sadness  in  his  look. 

"  Violet,  you  must  not  speak  of  being  of  use  to  me.  You 
talk  as  if  I  had  done  you  some  favor.  God  knows  it  is  very 
different  from  that :  you  have  altered  the  whole  world  for 
me." 

His  hand  was  a  little  more  firmly  pressed  ;  that  had  glad- 
dened her.     But  all  the  same  she  said, 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  it,  if  you  do  not  wish  it.  But  I  know 
that  what  I  am  trying  to  do  is  right." 

So  far,  well.  What  she  now  proceeded  to  do  was  scarcely 
in  accordance  with  these  submissive  tenets.  Amy  Warrener 
came  on  deck ;  the  two  young  ladies  had  a  private  talk  to- 
gether. Then  there  was  a  plunge  down  into  the  cabin  ;  after 
which  they  came  on  deck  again,  and  appeared  much  inter- 
ested in  the  fastening  of  the  rope  which  attached  the  dinghy 
to  the  yacht.  At  this  moment  Mrs.  Warrener  made  her  ai> 
pearance,  and  walked  up  to  the  two  girls. 

"  What's  this  you  have,  Amy  ?  What  is  this,  Violet  ?  I 
thought  so  !  " 

She  dispossessed  then  of  two  pretty  little  packages,  each 
containing  a  bathing  dress. 

"  So  you  were  going  to  slip  away  ashore  ?  " 

"  Indeed  we  were  ;  and  we  are  ;  and  why  not  ?  "  said  Violet, 
boldly,  but  not  at  all  liking  this  publicity. 

"  And  you  were  going  away  along  that  wild  shore,  where 
there  isn't  a  living  thing  to  be  seen — " 

"  That  was  why  we  wanted  to  go,"  observed  Mi^s  Violet. 

"  To  seek  out  some  place  where  you  don't  know  the  cur- 
rents and  tides  !  I  tell  you,  Violet,  you  will  be  drowned  some 
day,  as  sure  as  you  are  alive  now.  Haven't  you  had  a  lesson 
already  ? " 

''  No." 

The  fact  was  that  about  half  a  mile  from  Castle  Bandbox, 
in  a  little,  quiet,  sheltered  sandy  bay  on  the  coast,  there  was 
a  private  bathing-machine,  the  owners  of  which  had  offered  a 
duplicate  key  to  Mr.  Drummond  for  the  use  of  the  young 
ladies.  They  availed  themselves  of  the  privilege  only  too 
15 


226  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

freely ;  for  Miss  Violet  would  never  be  deterred  by  tlie  rough- 
ness of  the  sea,  notwithstanding  Mrs.  Warrener's  repeated 
assurances  that  she  w^ould  be  drowned.  Amy  Warrener  was 
a  good  deal  more  timid ;  and  it  was  some  story  of  hers  as  to 
an  imaginary  danger  into  which  Violet  had  got  that  was  now 
brought  forward  to  enforce  her  protest. 

It  was  of  no  use. 

"The  sea  is  quite  quiet  in  here,"  the  young  lady  remon- 
strated. "  The  tide  is  coming  in.  We  are  sure  to  get  a  nice 
quiet  place  along  there  round  the  point." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  drown  yourselves  ?  " 

"  Yes.     We  are  quite  tired  of  life,"  was  the  calm  answer. 

"  James,"  his  sister  called,  "  come  here  and  stop  these  fool- 
ish girls." 

"  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  Violet,  "  would  you  please  help 
me  to  get  up  the  dinghy  ?     We  can  row  ashore  ourselves." 

He  had  heard  the  whole  dispute  :  he  remained  in  mute  de- 
liberation. 

"I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that 
there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  considered  on  both  sides  of  this 
question;  but  if  I  endeavored  to  explain  its  niceties  fully, 
and  hoped  in  consequence  to  control  the  willfulness  of  a  lot 
of  raging  women — will  you  allow  me  to  proceed  ? — I  should 
resemble  a  spider  that  has  set  its  web  to  catch  a  fly,  and  finds 
it  charged  by  a  bull  or  buifalo.  The  broad  features  of  the 
case,  however — " 

"  Will  you  order  them  down  to  their  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Do  please  haul  up  the  dinghy  !  " 

" — may  be  described.  There  is  no  just  and  lawful  reason 
why  these  young  ladies  should  not  be  allowed  to  go  ashore 
and  bathe." 

"  Hear,  hear  !  " 

"  It  is  true,  if  they  were  drowned,  it  might  be  looked  on  as 
suicide;  and  we  might  be  charged  with  h<d'mg partidpes critni- 
nis.  At  the  same  time,  and  in  view  of  the  further  circum- 
stance that  a  man,  no  matter  how  fast  he  walks,  can  not  walk 
away  from  the  centre  of  the  earth — an  illustration  which 
might  come  in  handy  to  those  who  maintain  that  anthropo- 
morphism— like  the  morphological  theory  in  botany,  which 
traces  the  leaf-form — " 

What  was  this  going  on  forward  ?  The  trick  was  manifest. 
He  had  talked  the  measure  out.  Overhearing  the  dispute  in 
the  first  instance,  he  had  quietly  asked  Captain  Jimmy  to  get 
up  his  men  and  weigh  anchor,  the  jib  being  already  set ;  and 
now  the  young  women  were  civilly  asked  whether,  in  the 


FOREBODINGS.  227 

event  of  their  going  ashore,  they  could  swim  fast  enough  to 
overtake  the  Sea-Pyot  as  she  got  up  farther  sail  and  betook 
herself  again  to  the  north.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  an 
unconditional  surrender.  Tricked,  disappointed,  and  medita- 
ting gloomy  schemes  of  revenge,  the  two  young  women  went 
below  to  breakfast.  Their  enemies  had  not  heard  the  last  of 
this.' 

But  when  they  went  on  deck  again,  and  found  the  Sea-Pyot 
well  out  in  the  bright  blue  waters,  and  running  free  before  a 
brisk  southerly  wind,  the  bracing  sea-breeze  soon  blew  away 
their  discontent ;  and  all  their  attention  was  directed  to  the 
singular  beauty  of  the  scenes  they  were  passing.  Along  the 
distant  coast  of  the  main-land  the  mountains  were  here  and 
there  steeped  in  a  misty  blue  shadow — just  dark  enough  to 
show  the  gleaming  white  of  a  sea-gull  or  a  gannet  crossing ; 
but  on  their  left  the  shores  of  Skye  were  basking  in  the  warm 
sunlight,  and  they  were  near  enough  at  hand  to  see  the  pink 
of  the  heather,  the  dark  green  of  the  occasional  woods,  and 
the  lilac-grey  of  the  rocks  by  the  sea.  Very  lonely  shores 
indeed  these  were  :  here  and  there  the  brown  sea-weed  or  the 
sunlit  sand  showed  a  long  string  of  curlew,  sea-pyots,  and 
gulls,  that  rose  in  dense  flocks  as  the  vessel  approached,  and 
flew  screaming  away  to  some  farther  bay.  And  when  at  last 
they  did  see  some  sign  of  human  life  in  the  presence  of  a  few 
houses,  did  not  these  small  hut-like  dwellings  look  only  like 
part  of  the  debris  which  had  been  washed  down  by  the  rains 
of  centuries  from  the  great,  shining,  silent  slopes  of  the 
mountains  above  them  ? 

"  Look  there,"  said  a  certain  discurstve  talker  to  a  select 
audience  of  one  person ;  "  I  wonder  if  those  poor  people  ever 
consider  how  they  came  to  be  there.  I  suppose  not :  I  sup- 
pose they  consider  the  great  mountains  above  them  were 
made  to  support  their  sheep,  and  not  very  well  made  either, 
for  they  are  very  steep  and  bare.  It  is  not  the  worker  in  the 
affairs  of  the  world  who  sees  most — it  is  the  idler,  the  passing 
spectators.     But  I  have  not  been  idle  this  morning — " 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  asked  the  audience. 

"  I  have  but  the  finishing  touches  to  my  epitaph  on  the  race 
of  publishers." 
•  "  But  they  are  not  all  going  to  die  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  all  at  once,"  he  said,  "  unfortunately.  But  you  could 
put  this  epitaph  on  the  grave-stone  of  each  as  he  went.  And 
as  I  was  in  among  the  tombs  anyway,  I  got  together  a  few 
other  epitaphs  for  persons  I  know." 


228  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

*'  How  very  delightful !  What  a  charming  occupation ! 
Have  you  got  them  ?  " 

"  They  are  all  in  Latin.  No,  I  have  done  an  English  one 
for  Vernon  Harcourt :  He  resejnhled  a  VirgiUa7i  verse — he  was 
six  feet  lo7tg^  and  sonorous.  Will  that  do  ?  Look  at  those 
mountains  now — it  isn't  forty  centuries  that  are  gazing  down 
on  you,  but  forty  millions  of  centuries.  And,  after  all,  that  is 
of  no  moment — the  problem  of  creation  is  nothing ;  the  great 
mystery  is  the  existence  of  any  thing.  What  supports  the 
tortoise  ?  Chemistry  can  resolve  the  fabric  of  the  world  into 
elements ;  but  where  did  these  elementary  subjects  come 
from  ?  You  cannot  comprehend  any  thing  without  a  begin- 
ning ;  and  at  the  same  time  you  can  not  imagine — but  I  think 
we  are  getting  into  metapheesics,  which  may  be  a  sort  of  tel- 
luric fever  blown  across  from  the  Scotch  shore.  Look  at 
that  cormorant — on  the  rock — with  his  wings  outspread,  as 
if  he  were  challenging  you  to  have  a  rifle-shot  at  him." 

"James ! "  his  sister  called  out,  as  she  appeared  at  the  top 
of  the  companion-stairs,  clinging  with  both  hands  to  the 
hatchway,  "  surely  the  sea  is  rising !  " 

"  Not  much  ;  but  we  have  got  into  the  Narrows." 

"  If  she  goes  on  plunging  like  this,  we  shall  have  every 
thing  down  below  smashed  to  bits ;  and  I  shall  be  ill — which 
is  Worse." 

"  We  may  get  into  sheltered  water  when  we  get  round  Kyle 
Rea  point  :  the  tide  and  the  wind  are  meeting  here — that's 
what's  the  matter." 

They  did  indeed  get  into  more  sheltered  water  after  they 
had  rounded  the  point  and  stood  away  for  the  west,  but  it 
was  a  treacherous  sort  of  shelter.  The  wind  came  down 
from  the  high  mountains  in  sudden  gusts  and  squalls,  that 
demanded  all  the  care  and  activity  of  the  skipper  and  his 
men  ;  one  moment  the  yacht  would  be  lying  almost  becalmed, 
the  next  moment  she  would  be  heeled  over  almost  on  her 
beam-ends  with  a  heavy  gust  from  the  hills.  In  the  moments 
of  calm,  when  Mr.  Drummond  and  his  companion  had  less 
anxiety  about  keeping  a  tight  grip  of  the  shrouds,  they  could 
see  that  by  far  the  most  striking  picture  they  had  yet  met 
with  lay  right  in  front  of  them.  Nature  here  seemed  self- 
composed  into  a  landscape.  On  the  left,  the  outlines  of  the 
great  mountains  of  Skye  descended  and  ran  out  to  a  narrow- 
ing point,  on  which  stood  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle  ;  on  the 
right  another  promontory  ran  out,  ending  in  a  light-house ; 
between  these  lay  a  plain  of  rough,  gray,  wind-swept  sea; 
while  the  sun,  shining  behind  the  shadowed  point  where  the 


FOREBODINGS.  229 

ruined  castle  stood,  lighted  np  the  great  red  granite  shoulders 
of  Ben-na-Cailleach  and  the  still  more  distant  peaks — blue, 
sharp,  and  jagged — of  the  Cuchullins.  It  was  a  picture  that 
altered  every  minute,  as  new  bays,  peaks,  and  stretches  of 
sea  came  into  view.  When  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter 
were  summoned  up  to  look  at  it,  however,  there  was  a  de- 
faulter. Miss  Amy  had  considered  it  more  prudent  to  lie 
down. 

They  had  some  tight  work  of  it  to  get  into  Broadford  Bay  ; 
for,  having  run  along  Loch  Alsh  with  the  wind  on  their  port 
beam,  and  now  bringing  her  head  sharply  round  to  the  south, 
they  had  necessarily  the  wind  almost  in  their  teeth,  and  it 
was  tearing  across  the  open  bay  so  as  to  blind  them  with 
showers  of  foam.  Once,  indeed,  in  beating  up  they  got  so 
near  to  certain  rocks  which  are  marked  with  iron  perch,  that 
it  was  only  Drummond's  confidence  in  Captain  Jimmy's  pru- 
dence that  prevented  his  calling  out  to  the  men  to  put  the 
vessel  about  before  the  skipper  gave  the  order.  It  was  in 
any  case  a  narrow  escape  ;  turbulent  as  the  waves  were,  they 
were  near  enough  to  see  the  brown  rocks  far  down  in  the 
clear,  blue  water,  and  dangerously  close  to  the  stern  of  the 
boat.  However,  nothing  was  said  ;  and  after  some  arduous 
work,  they  finally  reached  what  was  considered  the  proper 
anchorage,  and  the  heavy  chain  swung  out  with  a  roar. 

Naturally  they  were  anxious  to  get  on  shore — the  women 
more  especially ;  for  they  had  not  seen  a  shop  for  an  uncon- 
scionable time,  and  there  might  probably  be  a  shop  or  two 
in  that  little  cluster  of  white  houses  running  along  the  semi- 
circular shores  of  the  bay.  But  the  skipper,  having  got  the 
sails  put  to  rights,  and  ordered  a  couple  of  the  men  to  lower 
the  gig,  somewhat  damped  the  ardor  of  the  party  by  saying 
that,  if  they  wished  to  purchase  any  provisions,  they  ought 
to  go  to  the  post-office  and  ask  whether  any  one  in  the 
neighborhood  had  killed  a  sheep  lately,  and  that,  if  they 
wished  for  loaf-bread,  they  would  have  to  see  whether  the 
steamer  had  brought  a  sufficient  supply  from  Glasgow.  How- 
ever, yachting  people  like  to  land  on  any  excuse  ;  and  so  they 
merrily  set  off  for  the  shore — Miss  Amy,  who  had  now  re- 
covered her  equanimity,  included. 

They  were  glad  to  set  their  foot  for  the  first  time  on  the 
island  of  Skye  ;  they  were  pleased  with  the  look  of  the  white 
houses,  the  dark-green  line  of  trees,  and  the  great  bulk  of 
Ben-na-Cailleach  rising  right  benind ;  they  were  talking, 
laughing,  and  joking  as  the  men  rowed  them  into  a  small 
quay.       Suddenly    Mrs.    Warrener — in    the    most   innocent 


230  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

fashion  possible — indeed,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world — said, 

"  Violet,  did  Mr.  Miller  say  any  thing  about  letting  you 
know  how  he  got  on  that  Sunday  ?  " 

The  girl  was  startled  by  the  mere  mention  of  the  name. 
It  seemed  to  her  there  was  some  sort  of  accusation  in  it ;  she 
had  been  grossly  forgetful,  unpitying,  selfish  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  her  own  happiness. 

"  N-no,"  she  stammered ;  and  Mrs.  Warrener  was  surprised 
to  notice  the  confusion  visible  in  the  girl's  face.  She  ought, 
the  elder  lady  considered,  to  have  been  pleased.  If  there 
had  been  a  lover's  quarrel,  what  more  natural  than  that  the 
suggestion  of  a  possibility  of  patching  it  up  again  should  give 
her  pleasure  "i 

"  Because  I  was  thinking  he  would  probably  write  to  Broad- 
ford  or  Portree.  He  knew  we  were  going  to  both  places," 
said  Mrs.  Warrener. 

Violet  North  did  not  seem  overjoyed  by  this  intimation. 
She  sat  silent,  thoughtful,  embarrassed ;  she  was  immensely 
relieved  when  they  reached  the  quay,  for  then  she  walked  on 
ahead  with  Amy,  and  her  friend,  im.agining  that  something 
was  wrong,  refrained  from  speaking  to  her. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  small  village  of  course  came  out  to 
their  doors  to  have  a  look  at  the  strangers,  who  gave  them 
every  opportunity,  for  there  was  much  loitering  in  front  of 
the  few  shop-windows,  most  of  which  contained  a  miscellane- 
ous heap  of  such  things  as  soap,  needles.  Glengarry  caps, 
comforters,  buttons,  biscuits,  gunpowder,  acidulated  drops, 
and  so  forth.  The  objective  point*  of  their  wanderings,  how- 
ever, was  the  post-office,  which  odd  little  building  they  dis- 
covered imbedded  in  trees  at  some  little  distance  from  the 
town.  The  lady  who  presided  there  was  the  most  courteous 
of  persons,  who  not  only  gave  the  strangers  all  the  informa- 
tion they  required,  but  invited  them  to  look  at  her  garden  ; 
and,  as  Miss  Violet  was  surprised  to  find  such  a  brilliant 
show  of  dahlias  in  this  remote  spot,  nothing  would  do  but 
that  she  must  carry  away  a  selection  of  them — a  gorgeous 
bouquet  which  adorned  the  saloon  of  the  Sea-Pyot  lor  days 
afterward. 

"  And  now,"  said  Violet  to  this  good  lady — for  she  was  too 
proud  to  shrink  from  the  task,  "  would  you  see  if  you  have 
any  letters  for  us  ?  " 

She  went  inside  and  took  their  cards.     There  was  no  letter. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  got  safely  back  to  London,"  said 
Violet,  calmly. 


FOREBODINGS,  231 

"  He  was  going  straight  back  to  London  then,"  Mrs.  War- 
rener  asked. 

"  I  suppose  so.     He  did  not  tell  me." 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  grieved.  She  had  a  great  affection  for 
this  girl :  and  she  was  sorry  to  see  her  being  made  misera- 
ble by  a  lover's  quarrel.  Was  it  not  a  pity  to  find  two  young 
people,  just  at  the  pleasantest  time  of  their  lives,  making 
each  other  wretched  for  no  cause  in  the  world  ?  They  could 
have  nothing  real  to  quarrel  about.  All  the  circumstances 
were  favorable  \  all  their  friends  were  consistent.  Mrs. 
Warrener  resolved  to  speak  to  Violet  about  this  matter ;  and 
hoped  she  might  be  the  means  of  reconciling  those  tv^^o  who 
were  obviously  destined  to  become  husband  and  wife. 

She  soon  found  an  opportunity.  They  went  for  a  walk 
along  a  road  leading  inland ;  and  now,  as  the  wind  had  died 
down,  and  as  the  afternoon  had  become  clear,  and  beautiful, 
and  still,  they  were  in  no  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  yacht. 

"  Violet,"  said  the  gentle-voiced  little  woman,  linking  her 
arm  within  that  of  the  girl,  "  I  am  really  vexed  about  all  this ; 
and  I  want  you  to  tell  rhe  if  I  can  not  do  something.  Now, 
dear,  don't  answer  in  a  hurry.  I  know  what  a  girl  is  ;  and  I 
expect  you  to  declare  that  you  don't  care  for  him,  and  that 
you  would  rather  never  see  him  again.  Every  girl  says  that 
when  she  has  a  quarrel  with  her  sweetheart;  and  she  re- 
mains miserable  out  of  pure  willfulness.  Now,  what  is  the 
use  of  your  both  being  wretched,  when  a  word  of  explanation 
would  clear  it  all  up  ?     Shall  I  write  to  him  ?  " 

What  could  see  answer  ?  For  the  first  time  the  peculiar 
position  in  which  she  stood  to  this  kind  friend  of  hers  was 
flashed  in  on  her  consciousness,  and  she  stood  confronted  by 
the  possibility  of  being  charged  with  deceit.  She  had  never 
considered  that  some  one  else  might  have  a  right  to  that  se- 
cret which  she  been  cherishing  in  her  own  heart.  Was  it 
necessary,  then,  that  this  strange  and  new  experience  of  hers 
should  be  blazoned  abroad  to  the  world,  and  become  the  talk 
of  friends  and  acquaintances  ? 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  she  said,  almost  piteously.  "  It  is 
a  mistake — it  is  all  a  mistake.  There  is  no  quarrel — but  in- 
deed I  can  not  tell  you  just  yet — not  just  yet — " 

She  would  ask  Mr.  Drummond,  she  thought ;  he  was  her 
master  in  all  things  :  she  would  rather  be  charged  with  con- 
cealment than  run  the  risk  of  doing  something  he  might  not 
approve. 

"  You  do  not  wish  me  to  write  to  him  ?  "  her  kind  friend 
said. 


232  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  To  Mr.  Miller  ?     Oh  no !  " 

They  walked  along  in  silence,  and  Violet  was  grieved  and 
troubled.  Now  that  it  was  probable  her  secret  would  have 
to  be  told,  how  could  she  defend  herself  from  the  charge  of 
being  cruel  to  this  young  man  ?  It  is  true  she  had  thought 
of  him  often  since  his  leaving  her  that  Sunday,  and  thought 
of  him  with  a  great  pity,  and  some  self-reproach  which  was 
but  little  merited;  but  she  could  not  conceal  from  herself 
that  she  had  experienced  a  wonderful  sense  of  freedom  since 
his  departure,  and  that  her  heart  had  grown  light  in  conse- 
quence. Yet  it  seemed  to  her  selfish  that  she  should  be 
proud  and  glad  in  her  happiness  ;  while  he — the  sweetheart 
of  her  school-girl  days,  who  had  patiently  waited  on  in  the 
hope  of  getting  a  favorable  answer — was  cut  adrift,  not  only 
from  her,  but  also  from  his  friends. 

"  I  am  not  to  be  snubbed,"  said  the  fair-haired  little  woman, 
cheerfully.  "  You  know,  Violet,  what  intermeddlers  get,  as 
a  rule  ;  but  I  must  risk  that  for  your  sake.  We  can  not  have 
you  go  through  all  these  beautiful  places  with  a  rueful  face  ; 
and  if  you  won't  let  me  write  to  Mr.  Miller,  then  I  must  go 
and  ask  James — " 

"  Oh  no !  "  Violet  said,  with  an  eager  piteousness  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Come,  come,  you  foolish  girl.  I  mean  to  speak  to  him 
this  very  moment." 

She  caught  her  friend  by  the  arm  to  stay  her. 

"  Indeed  you  must  not !  Do  grant  me  this  favor,  Mrs. 
Warrener — only  to  wait :  it  is  all  a  mistake,  and  there  is 
something  you  must  be  told — " 

"  More  secrets  ?  " 

The  girl  did  not  answer. 

"  Very  well,  if  you  wish,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said,  gently,  "  I 
will  wait ;  but  mind,  you  must  get  rid  of  your  trouble,  or  else 
come  and  ask  my  help." 

In  the  glow  of  the  evening  they  turned  back  from  the  quiet 
moor-land  ways  and  made  for  the  shore.  They  almost  felt 
disappointed  that  the  great  range  of  mountains  on  their  left 
should  shut  out  the  sinking  sun  :  they  had  grown  accustomed 
to  see  the  sun  set  over  the  western  seas. 

But  when  they  drew  near  to  Broadford,  and  overlooked 
the  great,  broad,  still  bay,  a  simultaneous  cry  of  admiration 
broke  from  them,  for  never  before,  not  even  in  their  dreams, 
had  they  seen  such  a  magical  display  of  color.  Far  over  on 
the  eastern  side  of  the  bay,  the  great  mountains,  from  base 
to  summit,  were  one  mass  of  pale,  ethereal  pink — a  world  in 


FOREBODINGS.  233 

rose-color,  that  towered  up  into  a  sky  of  glowing  amber.  It 
was  bewildering  to  the  eyes  ;  and  yet  it  was  exquisitely  soft — 
as  soft  as  the  pink  reflections  of  the  hills  that  shone  on  the 
smooth  bosom  of  the  loch.  When  they  turned  fron  this  palely 
roseate  panorama  of  mountains  to  the  west,  the  contrast  was 
most  striking.  Here  the  mountains,  close  at  hand,  were  all 
in  shadow ;  and  before  them  lay  a  stretch  of  moor-land,  its 
dark,  rich,  intense  olive-greens  cut  asunder  by  a  silver  streak 
of  river.  As  they  walked  along  they  could  see  that  these 
dark  v/estern  mountains  were  throwing  their  shadows  right 
across  the  bay,  until  they  began  to  creep  up  the  rose-colored 
slopes  of  the  distant  hills.  At  length  only  the  tops  of  the 
far  mountains  caught  the  flame ;  and  now,  close  by  them,  as 
it  seemed  to  be,  the  golden  disk  of  the  summer  moon  came 
up  behind  some  trees,  and  the  cold  greens  of  the  fields  hard 
by  became  still  more  intense.  It  was  a  sight  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

The  men  were  waiting  at  the  quay ;  they  pulled  out  to  the 
yacht  as  the  cold  gray  twilight  came  over  the  hills,  and  as  the 
yellow  moon  rose  in  the  south. 

"  You  are  tired  with  your  walk,  Violet,"  James  Drummond 
said,  regarding  her. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  said;  "it  is  pleasant  to  get  a  good  long 
walk  after  being  on  board  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  You  will  be  better  pleased  to-morrow,  when  w^e  drive  to 
Tprran  ;  you  ought  to  feel  like  a  sailor  when  he  gets  into  a 
hansom-cab." 

"  When  shall  we  go  on  to  Portree  ?  " 

"  Probably  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Are  you  anxious  to 
get  on  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  ;  not  at  all." 

Mrs.  Warrener  heard  the  question  and  answer,  and  drew 
her  own  inferences.  Portree  was  the  next  point  at  which 
they  would  find  a  post-office. 

AH  that  evening  Violet  had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  a 
word  with  Mr.  Drummond  alone  ;  for  the  night  was  very 
beautiful,  and  they  all  came  up  after  dinner  and  sat  on  deck. 
The  water  was  indeed  so  still  that  there  were  no  ripples  for 
the  moonlight  to  catch.  The  smooth  water  around  them  was 
almost  blaqlc ;  but  all  along  the  shore  a  mist  lay  thick,  and 
that  had  caught  the  moonlight.  The  decks  and  spars,  too, 
were  touched  with  the  ghostly  light,  contrasting  with  the 
orange  glow  shed  by  the  lamp  at  the  ship's  head. 

The  party  was  not  quite  so  gay  that  night  as  it  sometime 
had  been  ;  though  Mr.  Drummond,  all  unwitting  of  any  change 


234  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

was  in  one  of  his  happiest  moods.  Mrs.  Warrener  had  to 
confess  to  herself  that  if  Violet  had  of  late  been  occasionally 
out  of  spirits,  her  brother  seemed  to  have  got  to  the  other 
extreme.  She  had  never  known  him  remain  so  long  in  the 
very  brightest  of  humors. 

When  the  women  retired  for  the  night,  Violet  allowed  Mrs. 
Warrener  and  Amy  to  precede  her ;  then  she  returned  to  the 
desk  for  a  moment,  where  Mr.  Drummond  was  gathering  up 
the  shawls  and  cushions.  He  turned  quickly;  she  timidly 
took  his  hand. 

*'  Will  you  do  me  this  favor  "i "  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Will  you  tell  your  sister  ? " 

"  Yes — certainly — why  not  ?  "  he  answered,  quite  cheerfully. 
"  I  did  not  know  whether  you  wished  it  or  not ;  but  of  course 
she  ought  to  know,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  N-not  to  night,"  the  girl  murmured. 

"  Not  if  you  do  not  wish  it,"  he  said ;  and  then,  more  closely 
regarding  her,  he  saw  that  she  was  extremely  agitated. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Violet .?  " 

"  I  am  so  afraid,"  she  said,  and  he  knew  that  her  hand 
was  trembling. 

"Of  what?" 

"  If  we  could  only  have  gone  on,"  she  said,  with  a  passionate 
outburst  of  feeling ;  "  if  we  could  only  have  gone  on  as  we 
have  been  doing  these  two  happy  days,  what  more  could  have 
been  wished  .?     But  now — if  every  body  must  know — " 

"Every  body  need  not  know^ — "  he  was  beginning  to  soj , 
when  again  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Your  sister  will  hate  me,"  she  said,  passionately. 

"  She  will  love  you  more  than  ever — you  will  be  her  only 
sister.  But  why  all  this  timorousness  at  once  ?  Where  is  the 
courageous 'Violet  ?  Come  now,  let  me  go  down  be'low  this 
minute,  and*have  the  whole  thing  settled.  One  plunge,  and 
it  is  all  over.  Bless  my  soul,  wdiy  didn't  I  speak  to  her  with- 
out dragging  you  into  it .?  It  is  the  simplest  matter  in  the  world." 

"  No — to-morrow,"  she  said,  quickly  and  earnestly,  and  then 
she  kissed  the  hand  that  she  still  held,  and  went  below.  He 
could  not  quite  understand  what  all  this  meant. 

As  for  her,  she  tried  hard,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  to 
reason  herself  out  of  the  forebodings  which,  in  spite  of  herself, 
kept  surging  in  on  her  mind.  Why  should  she  be  afraid  of 
this  gentle  little  woman,  who  had  been  so  invariably  kind  to 
her }  What  possible  motive  could  any  human  being  have  for 
interfering  with  her  happiness  "i  And  then  she  reproached 
herself  for  thinking  only  of  her  own  happiness  ;  and  her  fancies 


LOCH  CORUISK,  23S 

went  away  to  another  who  had  a  far  better  reason  to  complain, 
and  she  asked  herself  again  and  again,  ''  Was  it  my  fault  ? 
Was  it  my  fault  ? " 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LOCH   CORUISK. 

He  had  no  fear  or  embarrassment  in  breaking  this  news  to 
his  sister  when  he  found  her  alone  in  the  saloon  next  morning. 
He  had  an  absolute  faith  in  her  unselfishness ;  he  could  not 
doubt  but  that  she  would  be  eager  to  take  Violet  still  more 
closely  to  her  heart. 

And  yet,  as  he  told  he'V  in  the  twilight  of  the  cabin,  he  was 
amazed  to  see  her  face  grow  pale.  She  retreated  a  step  from 
him  ;  pain,  apprehension,  dismay — all  were  visible  in  her  face 
and  in  her  frightened  eyes. 

"  Oh,  James,  is  it  true  ? "  she  said. 

The  whole  story  was  clear  to  her ;  she  saw  as  the  end  of  it 
only  the  misery  of  the  two  people  whom,  next  to  her  own 
daughter,  she  loved  most  dearly  in  the  world. 

"  Well !  "  said  he,  astonished.     "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  James,  you  don't  know  what  all  this  is  !  I  can  see  it. 
I  have  dreaded  it.  And  I  don't  know  which  is  the  more  to 
be  pitied  now,  for  she  is  proud — she  won't  draw  back — " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sarah  ?  I  insist  on  your  speaking 
more  plainly,"  said  he. 

"  Can  not  you  see  the  whole  story  ? "  she  said,  rapidly  and 
vehemently,  yet  with  a  great  pity  and  tenderness  in  her  eyes. 
"  That  poor  girl  has  a  quarrel  with  her  sweetheart ;  he  is  angry 
and  goes  away ;  she  is  proud,  offended,  her  dignity  is  wounded  : 
she  resolves  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him.  Then,  to 
revenge  herself,  she  turns  to  you ;  and  you,  you  make  her  be- 
lieve that  the  friendly  affection  you  have  always  shown  hei 
will  reconcile  her  to  the  loss  of  her  lover.  And  what  will  be 
the  end  of  it  ?  Isn't  the  story  told  every  day  ?  The  girl  re- 
pents when  it  is  too  late — when  the  discarded  lover  can  not 
be  brought  back ;  when  she  and  the  man  she  has  married  out 
of  spite  find  themselves  chained  to  each  other  for  life  through 
a  cruel  mistake." 

For  a  moment  he  was  staggered.  The  story  was  terribly 
life-like — clear,  concise,  and  probable.     It  was  obvious,  too, 


2Z^  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

that  this  gentle  little  woman  was  moved  by  no  animus  against 
the  girl ;  she  was  as  anxious  for  Violet's  happiness  as  his 
own. 

"What  you  say  is  very  true,  Sarah,"  said  he,  calmly,  "true 
in  many  cases  ;  not  in  this  one.  I  have  told  you  the  cause  of 
the  quarrel — " 

"  It  is  the  commonest  one  in  the  world,"  she  continued, 
quickly.  "  Young  men  are  always  jealous  :  he  was  doubtless 
thinking  she  did  not  pay  him  enough  attention,  and  then  ac- 
cused her  of  paying  far  more  attention  to  you.  That  is  true 
enough.  Violet  has  always  shown  the  greatest  respect — and 
I  will  say  affection  too — for  you.  Well,  you  know  how  high- 
spirited  the  girl  is.  If  he  spoke  to  her  like  that,  would  she 
bear  it.''  She  would  tell  him  to  go  ;  she  would  leave  him  to 
infer  what  he  likes;  and  then,  in  a  moment  of  wounded  pride, 
she  turns  to  you  and  tries  to  persuade  herself  that  she  loves 
you  well  enough  to  marry  you.  What  can  come  of  it,  James  ? 
what  can  come  of  it?  Do  you  think  she  has  forgotten  him  ? 
Did  you  not  notice  how  much  embarrassed  she  was  yesterday 
after  I  had  spoken  to  her  about  asking  for  a  letter  at  the 
post-office  ?  And  I  am  sure  you  must  see  how  anxious  she  is 
to  get  to  Portree." 

It  was  all  terribly  consistent  and  probable — his  reason  had 
to  admit  that ;  but  he  was  too  firm  a  man  to  be  led  into  jump- 
ing at  conclusions. 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said  to  his  sister.  "You  may  be 
right.  This  poor  girl  may  have  been  driven  into  an  error,  as 
you  say  ;  and  we  may  both  be  in  a  very  painful  and  mistaken 
l^osition.     If  that  is  so,  we  must  get  out  of  it." 

He  spoke  quite  calmly ;  there  was  an  expression  of  emotion 
on  his  face.  The  agony  was  in  his  heart ;  for  it  seemed  hard 
to  admit  even  the  possibility  that  these  two  glad  days  that 
had  just  passed  by  had  been  lighted  up  by  a  false  light  of 
happiness,  and  that  there  were  to  be  no  more  even  of  these 
deceitful  joys. 

"  But  what  I  will  tak-e  care  of  is  this — that  there  shall  be 
no  misunderstanding  in  the  matter.  Violet  has  stated  cer- 
tain things  to  me  ;  I  can  accept  a  denial  of  them  only  from 
herself.  If  what  you  say,  or  guess  at,  is  true,  there  is  nothing 
more  simple  than  to  get  confirmation  from  the  girl  herself, 
and  that  I  will  do  at  once." 

She  caught  his  hand. 

"  My  dear  brother,  don't  speak  to  me  as  if  I  were  doing  you 
an  injury.  Do  you  know  how  it  pains  me  to  have  to  tell  you  1 
Do  you  think  there  is  any  body  in  the  world  would  rejoice 


LOCH  CORUISK,  237 

more  to  see  you  and  our  Violet  married,  if  that  could  be  for  the 
happiness  of  both  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  that,  Sarah,"  said  he.  "  And  I  know  all  this  is 
kindly  meant.     But,  first,  let's  see  what  truth  there  is  in  it." 

"  James,  do  not  go  to  her,"  she  pleaded.  "  You  don't  know 
what  girls  are.  You  would  put  her  on  her  honor :  she  would 
hold  by  her  engagement  at  any  cost.  She  has  had  no  time 
to  reflect." 

*'  Do  you  mean  me,  then,  to  harbor  all  these  suspicions 
against  the  girl,  and  say  no  word  to  her .? "  he  demanded,  with 
some  warmth. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  the  little  wonan  answered,  courageously,  ''''for 
her  sake.  You  want  to  see  her  happy ;  I  am  anxious  for  the 
happiness  of  both  of  you.  And  I  tell  you  that  is  what  she 
would  do  now,  James ;  she  would  be  ashamed  to  say  she  had 
made  a  mistake  ;  she  would  consider  herself  bound  in  honor 
to  keep  her  word  to  you ;  very  likely  her  quarrel  with  Mr. 
Miller  still  rankles  in  her  mind.  What  harm  can  there  be  in 
waiting  ?     Do  not  drive  her  into  a  corner." 

Yes — he  admitted  that  what  she  said  was  just.  Violet's 
happiness  was  of  more  concern  to  him  than  his  own.  If  it 
was  true — and  of  course  he  did  not  admit  that  as  yet — that 
she  had  blundered  into  this  engagement  in  a  moment  of  pique, 
she  would  be  allowed  time  to  repent,  and  ample  opportunities 
of  escape. 

The  world  did  not  look  quite  so  glad  and  beautiful  to  this 
man  when  he  went  up  on  deck  and  glanced  around  at  the  sea 
and  the  hills.  His  face  had  something  of  the  old,  tired  ex- 
pression it  used  to  have  at  times  in  London — a  look  that  Vio- 
let, who  feared  it,  had  never  seen  since  he  had  come  to  the 
Highlands.  And  at  this  moment,  too,  Violet  and  her  com- 
panion Amy  appeared — coming  on  board  from  the  dinghy,  in 
which  they  had  sought  out  a  sheltered  nook  along  the  shore 
for  their  morning  bath.  Bright  youth  and  health  flushed  in 
the  faces  of  both  the  girls  as  they  stepped  on  deck ;  the  morn- 
ing sunlight  that  shone  on  the  sea  around  them  was  not  more 
brilliant  and  beautiful  than  the  life  and  gladness  that  sparkled 
in  their  eyes.  Suddenly,  however,  that  careless  joy  fled  from 
the  face  of  Violet  North.  She  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mr. 
Drummond ;  their  eyes  met,  a  sense  of  fear  came  over  her. 
She  longed  to  go  up  to  him — that  was  her  first  impulse — and 
say  *'  Oh,  my  kind  friend,  you  are  troubled,  and  I  am  the  cause 
of  your  trouble."  But  she  dared  not  do  that;  she  rather 
kept  away  from  him,  telling  herself  that  the  interview  between 


238  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

her  best  of  friends  and  his  sister  had  occurred,  and  fearing  to 
speculate  on  the  result  of  it. 

After  breakfast,  as  had  been  arranged  the  previous  day, 
they  went  ashore  in  the  gig,  walked  up  to  the  inn,  and  found 
awaiting  them  there  a  wagonette,  which  was  to  drive  them 
across  the  island.  It  was  a  bright  and  beautiful  day.  They 
got  into  the  vehicle  ;  and  away  went  the  two  horses  inland — 
past  the  foot  of  the  great  slopes  of  Ben-na-Cailleach,  and 
through  stretches  of  moorland,  until  they  beheld  on  their  right 
the  massive  shoulder  and  sharp  peaks  of  Blaven's  range  of  Gran- 
ite, with  the  black  points  of  the  Cuchullins  beyond.  It  ought 
to  have  been  a  pleasant  excursion;  but  it  was  a  somewhat 
silent  one — Mrs.  Warrener  doing  most  of  the  talking,  and 
showing  herself  more  affectionate  than  ever  toward  Violet. 
Mr.  Drummond  was  obviously  thinking,  and  probably  of  an 
insoluble  problem.  Was  it  not  true,  he  had  to  admit,  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  girl-nature  .''  Might  there  not  be  contradic- 
tions, opinions,  emotions,  and  so  forth,  altogether  different 
from  those  of  the  women  he  had  known  with  any  degree  of 
intimacy  ?  "  You  don't  know  what  a  girl  is,"  his  sister  had 
said  to  him ;  and  she  ought  to  know. 

Once  upon  a  time,  when  Violet  North  and  George  Miller 
were  conversing  together,  the  latter  referred  to  some  little 
social  solecism  that  Mr.  Drummond  had  committed,  and  re- 
marked that  he  was  old  enough  to  know  better. 

"  Do  you  know  how  old  he  is  t "  retorted  Violet,  sharply. 

''  No,  I  don't." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said,  speaking  very  dis- 
tinctly. "He  was  born  seven-and-thirty  years  ago.  In  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  and  human  nature  he  is  fifty ;  but  in  knowl- 
edge of  the  world  of  Hyde  Park  he  is  only  twenty." 

The  epigram  was  clumsily  put,  but  its  meaning  was  clear. 
Of  course  it  provoked  a  quarrel ;  though  Heaven  only  knows 
why  George  Miller  should  have  considered  himself  insulted 
when  Hyde  Park  was  treated  with  contempt. 

At  last  the  wagonette  brought  them  in  sight  of  the  open 
Atlantic — a  silver  plain  shimmering  in  heat — and  they  went 
down  the  shingly  shore  to  a  huge  and  heavy  boat  manned  by 
four  Highlanders,  unkempt,  ill-clad,  stalwart-looking  fellows, 
v.'ho  contentedly  set  out  on  a  pull  of  forty  miles  or  so,  v/ith  the 
most  unwieldy  oars  ever  seen  by  mortals.  Two  of  the  men 
were  tall  and  singularly  handsome,  their  features  fine  and 
delicate  in  outline,  and  full  of  power ;  they  spoke  what  little 
English  they  knew  with  a  curiously  modulated  intonation ; 
and  they  were  very  fond  of  singing  songs  in  chorus — a  chorus 


I 


LOCII  CORUISK.  239 

that  consisted  of  shrill  discordant  notes  m  all  manner  of  keys. 
The  singing  was  a  failure.  Mr.  Drummond  began  to  question 
them  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  songs.  As  usual,  they  were 
ignorant  of  the  acquired  faculty  of  translation.  They  could 
give  nothing  like  the  equivalent  of  the  Gaelic  words :  "  Ay,  it 
wass  the  young  lass,  and  she  went  away,"  summed  up  their 
impression  of  one  song.  The  next  one,  that  seemed  to  con- 
sist of  fifty  verses  :  "  Ay,  he  wass  a  souldier — and  the  young 
lass  would  be  for  waiting  for  him.  Ay,  it  iss  a  verra  fine  song, 
that  iss ;  there  iss  few  of  the  songs  better  ass  that  song ;  and 
the  music  of  it  iss  verra  fine  whatever."  And  again :  "  Ay, 
that  iss  a  beautiful  song,  and  it  wass  made  by  a  lady  that  lived 
near  Kyle  Rea.  And  that  song  iss  all  apout — well,  it  iss 
apout  a  young  lass — ay — and  that  young  lass — she  wass 
trooned — " 

And  then  they  got  out  and  round  the  long  promontory,  and 
found  before  them  the  silent  Loch  Scavaig — not  dark  and 
awful  in  its  accustomed  shadows,  but  fair  and  beautiful  and 
sad.  The  desolation  of  this  picture,  even  with  the  sunlight 
shining  on  the  blue  sea  around  them,  was  extreme ;  for  far 
over  this  glowing  waste  of  water  rose  the  shadowy  bulk  of  the 
Cuchullins,  in  still  and  sorrowful  majesty.  There  was  not  a 
voice  to  be  heard — not  even  the  screaming  of  a  sea-bird,  as 
they  rowed  into  the  head  of  this  treacherous  loch,  now  shining 
fair  and  calm  in  the  mid-day  sun. 

They  scrambled  on  the  shore,  too,  and  made  their  way 
over  the  rough  rocks  and  grass  to  the  small  fresh-water  Loch 
Coruisk — lying  still  and  sombre  in  the  cup  of  the  mighty 
hills  surrounding  it.  On  the  right,  these  hills  were  in  the 
sunshine,  sending  their  riven,  bare,  jagged  peaks  into  the  far 
blue  of  the  sky  ;  on  the  left  they  were  hidden  in  shadow,  mys- 
terious and  profound,  even  in  the  midst  of  this  summer's  day. 
The  women  went  away  down  to  the  shores  of  tTie  black  and 
sullen  lake  ;  James  Drummond  sat  by  himself  on  the  rocks, 
and  he  seemed  to  see  things  as  in  a  dream. 

He  was  alone  in  this  awful  solitude — no  sight  or  sound  of 
human  beings  near;  and  as  he  gazed  up  at  the  terrible 
peaks,  rising  sheer  from  the  gloomy  water,  he  grew  to  think 
that  they  were  great  dumb  creatures,  living  but  immovable, 
the  giants  of  eternity,  abiding  forever  in  solitary  self-com- 
munion. "  They  have  eyes,"  he  was  thinking,  "  away  up  in 
those  mystic  shadows,  and  they  close  but  once  in  a  thousand 
years.  When  the  wild  Atlantic  frets  around  the  shores,  they 
frown  ;  otherwise  they  are  cold  and  impassible ;  they  gaze 
at  each  other,  without   curiosity,  without  intelligence,  only 


240  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

with  an  awful  sadness  that  increases  as  the  centuries  slip  by, 
bringing  no  change.  They  have  seen  no  human  beings  ;  if 
some  small  creatures  have  crept  across  the  neck  of  land  at 
their  base,  and  disappeared  again  out  at  sea,  they  have  paid 
no  heed.  Can  they  speak  to  each  other .''  No.  They  listen 
to  the  murmur  of  the  Atlantic,  but  they  make  no  sound  in 
their  everlasting  repose.  When  the  clouds  are  whirled 
against  them  in  the  night,  and  the  wild  lightning  crackles 
through  the  dark,  and  the  sea  yells  around  their  feet,  the 
awful  frown  deepens,  and  it  seems  as  though  they  would 
arise  from  their  eternal  lethargy  and  command  the  elements 
to  be  at  peace  ;  but  no — they  pass  that  by,  too,  as  the  strife 
of  a  moment ;  the  slow  centuries  alone  affect  them,  adding 
to  the  trouble  of  the  saddened  eyes ;  they  have  no  compan- 
ionship, not  even  in  the  night-time  with  the  mystic  and 
gleaming  stars." 

"  Anthropomorphism,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  rose  and 
seemed  to  try  to  shake  away  certain  thoughts.  ''  The  pro- 
jection of  the  shadow — the  exceeding  humility  of  the  human 
being  in  transferring  his  own  sadness  to  the  Cuchullin  hills 
or  the  midnight  sky !  " 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him — was  he  really  sad  ? 
Could  it  be  possible  that,  amidst  all  the  happiness  that  had 
surrounded  him  and  his  companions  in  these  beautiful  sol- 
itudes, a  few  chance  remarks,  suggesting  what  he  must 
regard  as  at  least  an  improbability,  should  have  such  an 
effect.?  He  would  shake  oft"  this  morbid  feeling.  There 
might  be  certain  girl-natures  outside  the  sphere  of  his  sister's 
experience.  And  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  would  he 
be  sad  to  see  Violet — at  whatever  cost  to  himself — rescued 
from  a  false  position,  and  made  happy  as  a  young  girl  should 
be  happy? 

He  would  not  be  conquered  by  the  prevailing  gloom  of 
this  silent  and  mysterious  loch.  He  made  his  way  down  the 
rocks  to  the  little  sandy  bay  where  his  companions  were 
seated,  and  entered  into  a  competition  with  his  niece  in  the 
matter  of  throwing  "ducks  and  drakes."  He  was  quite 
merry  over  their  luncheon  on  the  rocks.  When  he  got  into 
the  boat  again,  he  relieved  one  of  the  men — who  had  re- 
cently met  with  an  accident — of  his  oar,  and  labored  away 
with  that  unwieldy  instrument  for  over  half  an  hour.  It  was 
about  eight  o'clock  at  night  when  they  got  back  to  Broad- 
ford. 

The  weather  is  abrupt  in  its  change  in  these  parts.  Cap- 
tain  Jimmy,  who  had  always  professed   a  profound  dislike 


UNDER  THE  BLACK  CUCHULLINS.  241 

to  Broadford  Bay,  as  a  particularly  open  roadstead  in  the 
case  of  a  northerly  gale  blowing,  said  that  the  wind  had 
backed  a  bit  from  the  south-east  to  east,  and  promised  to 
get  still  farther  to  the  north.  Would  they  like  to  go  on  that 
night  to  Portree  ? 

"  Is  there  any  need — any  danger  in  lying  here  ?  " 

"  Naw,  sir,"  replied  the  skipper,  "  there  iss  no  any  great 
deed.     But  the  wind  iss  good  to  go  up." 

"  You  see  you  will  keep  those  ladies  awake  all  night — " 

"  You  need  not  consider  us,  James,"  his  sister  said ;  and 
then  she  added,  "  You  know  Violet  would  much  rather  go 
on." 

He  turned  round  ;  Violet  was  not  on  deck.  He  went  to 
the  companion-ladder  and  called  down, 

"  Violet,  are  you  there  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  We  want  to  know  whether  you  would  prefer  to  remain 
here  for  the  night,  or  go  on  to  Portree.  The  wind  is  favor- 
able." 

She  came  to  the  door  of  the  saloon,  and  answered  him,  in 
a  lower  voice,  and  with  her  eyes  cast  down, 

"  If  it  is  no  inconvenience  to  any  one,  I  would  rather  go 
on  to  Portree  at  once." 

He  went  along  to  his  sister,  and  said  that  Violet  did  wish 
to  go  on  to  Portree  that  night. 

"  I  thought  she  would,"  Mrs.  Warrener  ansv/ered,  gently. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

UNDER   THE   BLACK   CUCHULLINS. 

In  the  deep  silence  of  the  night  the  loud  and  harsh  hauling- 
up  of  the  anchor  sounded  ominously,  the  breeze  was  rising; 
the  moon,  observed  from  time  to  time  by  swift  and  watery 
clouds,  threw  a  wan  and  ghastly  light  on  the  sails  and  the 
deck,  and  struck  a  golden  star  on  the  gleaming  brass  of  the 
compass.  When  they  got  outside  the  bay,  they  found  there 
was  a  good  sea  on  ;  the  waves  were  rushing  along  before  the 
stiff  south-easterly  wind  ;  there  was  a  murmur  of  breakers 
coming  over  from  the  distant  and  gloomy  rocks  of  Pabba. 
No  one  thought  of  going  below ;  there  was  a  weird  excite- 
ment in  thus  hurrying  on  through  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
v/ith  the  adjacent  coasts  grown  mystical  and  strange  under 
16 


342  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

the  frail  moonlight.  They  listened  in  silence  to  the  plunging 
and  churning  of  the  waves  that  went  hissing  away  behind  the 
boat ;  they  tried  to  make  out  the  outlines  of  the  sombre 
shores  they  were  passing;  they  watched  a  strange  mist  of 
moonlight  gathering  round  the  black  peaks  of  the  Cuchullins. 
The  men  were  obviously  on  the  alert.  Once  or  twice  one  of 
them  was  seen  to  go  up  the  rigging  to  the  cross-trees  to  have 
a  lookout  for  some  island  or  perch  invisible  from  the  deck. 
The  skipper  did  not  care  to  have  the  tack  of  the  mainsail  let 
down  ;  they  were  certainly  making  sufficient  wa}'.  And  so 
they  went  swinging  on  through  the  night,  under  the  shadows 
of  the  black  mountains  of  Skye — the  boom  straining  and 
creaking,  the  broad  sail  flat  before  the  wind,  the  red  and 
green  side-lights  rising  and  dipping  as  the  bow  rose  and 
dipped  with  the  hurrying  waves.  At  this  rate  they  would 
soon  get  on  to  Portree. 

It  was  not  like  that  wonderful  and  magical  night  when  they 
lay  becalmed  in  the  Sound  of  Sleat,  and  saw  the  yellow  moon 
go  down  behind  the  sea  like  a  great  ship  on  fire.  Then  all 
was  laughter,  music,  and  joyous  idleness,  on  the  placid  waters, 
under  the  beautiful  stars.  Now  the  black  coast  of  Skye 
overawed  them ;  the  moon  that  was  near  to  the  summits  of 
the  Cuchullins  was  watery  and  ominous  ;  they  were  rushing 
along  a  breeze  that  threatened  to  become  half  a  gale,  and 
there  was  certainly  no  room  for  carelessness  or  idleness  when 
they  got  into  the  narrows  of  the  sombre  Sound  of  Raasay. 
It  was  not  like  the  time  that  had  been — the  time  that  was 
even  now  beginning  to  seem  remote. 

They  got  into  Portree  shortly  after  one  in  the  morning : 
they  could  just  make  out  the  cottages  of  the  sleeping  town, 
and  the  rocks  and  trees  adjacent,  in  the  pale  and  uncertain 
moonlight.  The  noise  on  board  did  not  long  disturb  the 
stillness  of  the  place  ;  by-and-by  the  Sea-Fyot  was  also  given 
over  to  sleep. 

Mr.  Drummond  was  early  up  next  morning  ;  he  seemed  a 
trifle  preoccupied  and  restless.  His  sister  was  the  next  to 
come  on  deck. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  morning  it  is  ! "  she  exclaimed. 
There  was  a  curious  watery  fog  lying  about  the  shore  that 
made  objects  look  at  once  large,  shadowy,  and  remote. 

He  took  no  heed  of  the  remark. 

"  Sarah,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  have  you  said  any  thing  to 
Violet  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,"  the  gentle  little  woman  answered.  *'  I  have 
had  no  opportunity  of  speaking  with  her  alone.     But  if  I  had, 


UNDER  THE  BLACK  CUCHULLINS.  243 

I  doubt  whether  I  ought  to  say  any  thing.  I  do  not  wish  to 
influence  the  poor  girl  in  anyway.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
she  must  be  free  to  follow  the  suggestions  of  her  own  heart." 

"  But  she  will  think  it  strange  ;  she  will  imagine  you  disap- 
prove :  I  told  her  I  should  tell  you.  And  I  must  speak  to 
her,  too,  about  it.     But  what  can  I  say  ?  " 

He  took  a  step  up  and  down  the  deck ;  he  was  obviously 
endeavoring  to  repress  many  and  very  varying  emotions. 

"  It  is  very  terrible,  Sarah — all  this  uncertainty,  this  doubt. 
In  any  other  case,  I  would  not  bear  it  for  a  moment.  But,  as 
you  say,  we  must  not  drive  the  girl  into  a  corner.  We  must 
leave  her  free.  And  perhaps  now — if  there  should  be  a  letter 
from  Miller — she  may  decide  something — " 

He  called  one  of  the  men  to  him,  and  wrote  certain  words 
on  a  card. 

"  Alec,  lad,  I  want  you  to  go  ashore  and  see  if  there  are  any 
letters  for  us  at  the  post-office.     Get  back  as  soon  as  you  can." 

Mrs.  VVarrener  went  below  to  see  the  breakfast-table  laid. 
She  was  almost  as  anxious  about  this  affair  as  her  brother 
could  be.  In  her  secret  heart  she  hoped  that  there  would  be 
a  letter  from  Mr.  Miller  which  would  remove  all  misunderstand- 
ings between  himself  and  Violet ;  that  the  girl  would  then  see 
how  she  had  blundered,  and  make  such  quick  reparation  as 
was  possible  ;  and  that,  after  a  natural  pang  or  two,  they  would 
all  return  to  their  old  relations,  and  those  two,  who  were  very 
dear  to  her,  be  saved  from  the  consequences  of  a  terrible  mis- 
take. 

Alec  came  out  again  ;  there  were  three  or  four  letters,  one 
of  them  addressed  to  "  Miss  Violet  North,  on  board  the  yacht 
Sea-Fyof,  care  of  the  Postmaster,  Portree,  Island  of  Skye." 
Mr.  Drummond  knew  the  handwriting :  he  calmly  placed  the 
letter  out  on  the  table,  at  the  corner  where  Violet  usually  sat. 

They  were  all  ready  for  breakfast  when  Violet  appeared. 
She  went  to  her  accustomed  place,  took  up  the  letter,  glanced 
at  the  outside,  and  quickly  put  it  in  her  pocket.  When  she 
sat  down,  Mrs.  Warrener  noticed  that  she  was  rather  pale. 

The  girl  could  not  conceal  her  emotion.  Her  fingers  trem- 
bled as  she  took  the  cup  and  saucer  offered  to  her.  Some 
feeble  effort  of  conversation  was  being  made  :  she  did  not  seem 
to  overhear. 

At  last  she  could  restrain  her  anxiety  no  longer.  She  mur- 
mured something  about  being  excused  ;  took  out  the  letter,  and 
hurriedly  glanced  over  its  contents.  It  was  not  a  long  one, 
apparently ;  for  she  suddenly  rose,  and  burst  into  tears  as  she 
left  the  saloon.     A  stransfe  silence  ensued. 


244  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

In  a  minute  or  two  Mrs.  Warrener  followed. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter,  uncle  ? "  said  Amy  Warrener,  inno- 
cently. 

"  Some  bad  news,  I  fear,"  said  he ;  and  she  was  surprised 
that  he  could  speak  of  Violet's  receiving  bad  news  in  so  firm 
and  unconcerned  a  voice. 

Then  his  sister  came  back. 

"  James,  Vv^ill  you  ask  one  of  the  men  to  row  Violet  ashore  ? 
She  wants  to  send  off  a  telegram." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he  ;  and  he  went  on  deck. 

A  few  minutes  afterward  he  was  watching  a  small  boat,  con- 
taining two  figures,  that  was  making  for  the  quay.  When,  at 
last,  it  had  disappeared  altogether  into  that  haze  of  sunlit  mist 
that  lay  along  the  shore,  he  turned  to  another  of  the  men  and 
said, 

"  I  should  like  to  have  the  gig  lowered.  Can  you  and  Alec 
pull  me  up  to  the  head  of  the  loch  where  those  wild  ducks  are  ? " 

His  sister  came  to  him. 

"Where  are  you  going,  James?  You  have  had  no  break- 
fast." 

"  Yes,,  thank  you,"  he  said,  gently,  and  his  face  looked  a 
trifle  carew^orn  and  tired — that  was  all.  "  I  have  had  enough. 
They  say  there  are  plenty  of  wild  ducks  up  here." 

"  Oh,  James — "  she  was  beginning  to  say ;  but  tears 
swelled  up  in  her  eyes,  and  she  could  not  speak.  She  sav/ 
him  fetch  his  gun,  get  into  the  gig,  and  take  the  tiller-ropes. 
She  knew  that  the  sorest  heart  in  England  thatday  was  in  that 
boat. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIT. 

CROSS-CURRENTS. 

The  mischief  now  wrought  by  this  tender-hearted  little  wo- 
man, in  all  innocence,  and  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world, 
could  not  have  been  done  half  so  thoroughly  by  the  most  art- 
ful and  ingenious  plotter  that  ever  appeared  in  a  melodrama. 
The  reason  was  simple.  She  had  a  clear,  convincing,  unwaver- 
ing belief  in  her  own  reading  of  the  relations  existing  between 
her  brother  and  Violet,  and  between  Violet  and  George  Miller ; 
and  while  this  belief  was  likely  to  impress  in  some  measure 
the  people  around  her — mental  magnetism  being  a  far  more 
sure  thing  than  animal  magnetism — it  was  a  complete  safe^ 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  245 

guard  against  her  making  any  mistake  in  the  role  she  was  un- 
consciously playing.  She  had  no  secret  plot  to  work,  at.  Her 
intense,  unselfish  regard  for  the  happiness  of  those  two  near 
her  was  too  obvious  to  be  questioned. 

Then  look  at  the  position  in  which  she  stood  for  the  effect- 
ual carrying-out  of  this  unintentional  mischief.  Any  other 
person  coming  to  James  Drummond  with  the  same  story  would 
certainly  have  been  met  with  distrust,  and  might  probably  have 
been  met  with  ridicule  ;  but  she  was  Violet's  most  intimate 
friend,  the  confidante  of  the  girl  for  3^ears  back.  Then  she 
was  a  woman,  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  the  feminine  heart ; 
and  it  was  with  the  most  open  sincerity  that  she  had  assured 
him  he  knew  nothing  of  girl  nature.  When  she  appealed  to 
him,  for  Violet's  sake  to  give  the  girl  free  opportunity  to  get 
out  of  the  terrible  position  in  which  a  blunder  had  placed  her, 
what  could  he  answer  ?  If  her  heart  were  really  beginning  to 
look  longingly  back  toward  the  young  man  who  had  left  her 
in  a  fit  of  anger,  surely  it  was  better  she  should  declare  the' 
truth,  and  go.  But  he  had  too  noble  a  regard  for  the  girl  to 
challenge  her,  to  drive  her  into  a  corner,  and  claim  from  her 
a  denial  of  these  lingering  regrets,  as  a  more  hasty  or  a  more 
selfish  man  would  have  done.  She  should  have  her  free 
choice. 

Now  we  come  to  Violet  herself ;  and  here  Mrs.  Warrener's 
mischievous  work  was  far  more  easy.  She  had  only  induced 
her  brother  to  remain  aloof — to  give  Violet  time — to  watch 
and  judge  for  himself;  while  she  had  been  successful  in 
bringing  back  the  old,  sad  look  to  his  eyes.  But  with  Violet 
the  case  was  different.  The  girl  was  proud,  high-spirited, 
impetuous  ;  while  love  in  any  case  is  quick  to  imagine  and 
magnify -danger.  When  Violet  came  on  board  again,  after 
having  sent  off  her  telegram,  Mrs.  Warrener  was  on  deck 
av/aiting  her.  She  took  the  girl's  hand  in  hers  and  drew  her 
a  bit  aside,  so  that  she  should  not  be  overheard ;  then  she 
said,  in  a  very  gentle  and  kindly  voice, 

"  You  are  troubled  about  something,  Violet.  Can  I  help 
you  ?  If  you  do  not  wish  to  tell  me  what  it  is,  I  shall  not  be 
offended  with  you  ;  but  you  know  I  might  be  able  to  help 
you ;  and  you  know  how  anxious  we  all  are  to  see  you  cheer- 
ful, and  well,  and  happy." 

The  girl  was  looking  down,  her  face  burning ;  she  was  not 
like  the  bright,  audacious  Violet  of  old. 

'•  I  have  no  right  to  be  cheerful  and  happy,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  have  acted  badly — I  have  given  great  pain  to 
others — " 


246  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  But  all  that  may  be  mended,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  eager- 
ly ;  for  was  not  every  word  uttered  by  the  girl  further  confir- 
mation of  her,  Mrs.  Warrener's,  belief  ?  '•  Indeed,  no  great 
harm  has  been  done,  Violet — it  will  be  made  all  right  again, 
dear.  May  I  guess  that  that  telegram  was  sent  to  Mr.  Mil- 
ler ?  Yes  t  Then  you  will  be  friends  again,  and  your  old 
relations  will  be  established  again — " 

"  Oh  no,"  the  girl  said,  "  that  is  impossible — that  is  quite 
impossible.     But  I  am  so  sorr}^ — " 

"Violet,"  said  her  friend,  with  a  smile,  for  she  saw  her  way 
clear  to  making  every  body  happy,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a 
secret.  My  brother  spoke  to  me  yesterday  about  what  had 
happened  between  you  and  him — do  you  look  afraid,  Violet, 
and  afraid  of  me  ?  If  it  were  only  possible — if  I  could  only 
have  you  for  my  sister — do  you  think  I  would  not  welcome 
you  with  open  arms  ?  You  are  one  of  our  family  already, 
Violet ;  if  this  other  relation  had  been  possible,  I  should 
have  been  more  delighted  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  bewildered  way :  she  did  not 
quite  understand. 

*'  But  now  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  you  out  of  your  trouble, 
Violet,"  said  the  good-natured  little  woman,  with  increasing 
confidence,  "  that  I  must  speak  frankly  to  you.  You  must 
not  imagine  that  you  are  bound  to  my  brother.  If  it  would 
secure  your  happiness,  I  know  he  Vv^ould  never  in  this  world 
say  another  word  about  what  has  happened  ;  and  you  must 
not  imagine,  either,  that  you  would  be  doing  him  so  great  an 
injury ;  for,  after  all,  the  affection  he  has  for  you  is  what  he 
always  had  for  you — even  when  he  was  glad  to  see  you  were 
about  to  marry  Mr.  Miller,  he  would  be  quite  as  pleased  and 
glad  too  that  both  he  and  you  were  not  the  victims  of  a  mis- 
take. You  know,  Violet,  the  kind  of  affection  with  which  a 
man  of  his  years  regards  a  young  girl.  It  is  very  unselfish. 
If  he  thought  you  stood  in  need  of  some  one  to  aid  and 
guide  you,  he  would  be  prepared  to  marry  you,  when  that  was 
suggested  to  him  ;  and  if  he  thought  it  better  for  you  to  mar- 
ry some  one  with  an  older  claim  on  you,  he  would  give  you 
up  frankly,  and  still  regard  you  with  the  same  affection.  Do 
you  see  all  that,  Violet  ?  " 

Was  all  this  terrible  thing  true  ?  Was  it  true  that  he  only 
regarded  her  with  that  friendly  affection  of  which  his  sister 
spoke  ?  Then  she  remembered,  with  a  great  shame  and 
dread,  the  circumstances  that  had  led  to  this  engagement. 
Mr.  Drummond  had  almost  been  challenged  to  return  her 
affection.     A  confession  of  her  love  for  him  had  been  car- 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  247 

ried  to  him  ;  her  good,  kind  friend  had  responded  ;  and  now 
his  own  sister  was  talking  of  this  response  as  a  mistake,  from 
the  effects  of  which  all  the  persons  concerned  were  to  be 
rescued. 

Violet  North  had  not  James  Drummond's  patient  strength 
and  reticence  of  character ;  she  was  quick,  proud-spirited, 
prone  to  act  on  the  first  impulse.  Her  girlish  sense  of  dignity 
was  touched  :  she  would  not  have  it  said  that  any  man  had, 
through  compassion  for  her  friendless  position,  been  led  into  ex- 
aggerating his  regard  for  her  and  offering  her  marriage.  On 
the  other  hand,  her  deep  affection  for  him  was  quite  as  power- 
ful with  her  as  her  quick  sense  of  honor  :  would  she  have 
the  man  she  loved  drawn  into  an  engagement  that  he  might 
regret  all  the  years  of  his  life  ? 

These  fancies,  fears,  and  resolves  darted  through  her  mind, 
as  she  stood  there  for  a  second  or  two,  quite  silent. 

"  He  has  asked  you  to  tell  me  all  this  ? "  she  said,  nerving 
herself  to  speak  calmly. 

'•  Oh  no ! "  Mrs.  Warrener  exclaimed,  with  honest  eager- 
ness ;  "  not  a  word  of  it — not  a  single  word  of  it.  You  know 
how  kind,  how  utterley  regardless  of  himself,  my  brother  is. 
So  long  as  he  imagines  that  you  might  consider  a  marriage 
between  you  and  him  as  likely  to  promote  your  happiness,  all 
the  tortures  in  the  world  would  not  get  him  to  say  any  thing 
against  it.  If  you  went  to  him  just  now,  he  would  declare 
that  he  was  rejoiced  at  the  prospect — " 

"Would  that  be  fair?  would  that  be  honest?  "the  girl  said, 
indignantly,  and  not  without  some  sudden  and  sad  look  back 
to  certain  words  which  she  had  believed  all  too  fully  when  she 
heard  them. 

"  It  is  so  easy  to  put  in  a  little  exaggeration,  when  one  is 
anxious  for  another  person's  happiness,"  Mrs.  Warrener  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"  And  if  I  go  to  him  now  and  speak  to  him  about  this  mat- 
ter, he  will  continue  to  deceive  me — for  my  good  ? "  asked 
the  girl,  somewhat  proudly. 

"You  must  not  call  it  deception,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener, 
gently.  "•  If  I  were  you,  I  would  look  at  the  motive  for  it, 
and  call  it  kindness." 

"  Then  what  am  I  to  do  ? "  Violet  said,  standing  erect. 
"  Break  off  the  engagement  at  once,  and  get  back  to  London  ? 
The  steamer  comes  in  here  to-morrow.  My  father  is  in 
London  at  present." 

Her  friend  regarded  her  curiously.  Was  she  acting  ?  Or 
was  she  really  vexed  and  disappointed — with  the  mild  disap- 


248  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

pointment  of  a  girl  who,  having  fancied  she  had  two  lovers, 
finds  she  has  only  one  ? 

"  No,  no,  Violet,  you  must  not  do  any  thing  rash,"  she  said, 
quietly.  "  If  I  have  shown  you  how  matters  are  likely  to 
come  all  right  in  the  end,  it  was  not  with  the  wish  of  advising 
you  to  do  any  thing  at  once.  You  can  afford  to  wait — indeed 
I  suppose  you  must  wait  now,  unless  you  think  there  is  the 
least  chance  of  Mr.  Miller  altering  his  mind  and  coming  back 
to  the  Highlands  ?  " 

The  suggestion  was  thrown  out  at  random ;  and  yet  Mrs. 
Warrener  would  not  have  been  surprised  to  hear  that  he  was 
coming  back. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Miller's  intentions  are,"  said  Violet, 
with  some  haughtiitess  ;  "  but  if  he  comes  back  here,  I  must 
leave." 

Mrs.  Warrener  did  not  like  to  smile ;  and  yet  the  girl  was 
so  charmingly  simple.  Clearly,  she  had  not  quite  forgiven 
him  just  Vet ;  she  was  inclined  to  stand  on  her  dignity ;  her 
compunction  of  the  morning,  awakened  by  reading  his  letter, 
was  only  now  disappearing. 

"  Well,  Violet,  -let  us  say  no  more  about  this  at  present. 
Come  down  below  and  have  some  breakfast." 

"Thank  you,  I  don't  care  about  any  just  now." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  laugh,  "we  are  having 
a  pretty  lot  of  trouble  over  nothing.  But  I  can  not  allow 
you  all  to  act  like  spoiled  children.  Here  is  James,  too,  gone 
off  without  taking  any  breakfast.  Now,  if  you  won't  have 
any,  what  I  propose  is  this  :  let  us  at  once  put  luncheon  for 
the  whole  party  in  the  dinghy,  and  we  can  all  go  away  up 
the  loch  in  search  of  him.     Will  that  do  ?  " 

Violet  considered  that  Mr.  Drummond  must  have  been 
eager  to  get  the  wild  duck  when  he  left  without  his  break- 
fast ;  but  she  willingly  consented  to  aid  in  the  provisioning  of 
the  dinghy,  and  in  due  course  of  time  that  handy  little  boat 
started  on  a  voyage  of  discovery.  It  ought  to  have  been  a 
pleasant  excursion.  Though  a  curious  sort  of  Watery  vapor 
hung  round  certain  portions  of  the  shore,  out  here  the  sun 
had  drunk  up  the  fog,  and  the  blue  sea  sparkled  in  the  light. 
Behind  that  veil  of  mist  too,  they  could  see  something  of  the 
white  houses  of  Portree,  and  the  outjutting  rocks  covered 
with  trees  and  bushes.  There  was  a  pleasant  scent  of  sea- 
weed in  the  morning  air ;  and  all  around  them  there  was  a 
delicious,  dreamy  silence  and  quiet. 

But  when,  after  a  good  long  pull,  they  got  up  toward  the 
head  of  the  loch,  things  were  rapidly  changed.     A  sort  of 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  249 

gray,  transparent  darkness  seemed  to  fall  around  them. 
They  had  an  impression  that  the  sun  was  still  shining,  but 
they  could  not  quite  tell  where  he  was,  and  there  was  no 
light  on  the  still  water.  They  could  see  objects  at  a  con- 
siderable distance,  but  these  objects  were  vague  and  confused. 

A  large  bird  went  whirring  by,  some  twenty  yards  from  the 
boat.     The  women  were  startled  by  the  noise  it  made. 

"  It  iss  a  skart,  and  a  big  skart  too,"  said  one  of  the  two 
sailors. 

Some  half  a  dozen  birds,  smaller,  apparently,  and  yet  of 
considerable  size,  went  whizzing  past  overhead. 

"  That  was  only  pyots,"  said  the  man ;  but,  all  the  same, 
he  seemed  to  imagine  that  Mr.  Drummond  had  missed  a 
chance. 

There  were  indeed  plenty  of  birds  about ;  the  fact  being 
that  at  this  mioment  Mr.  Drummond,  having  explored  a  dis- 
tant creek  of  the  loch,  was  now  coming  over  to  where  the 
dinghy  was,  and  these  birds  he  had  driven  on  before  him. 
Away  in  the  distance  they  heard  the  faint  crack  of  a  shot ; 
by-and-by  they  descried  the  gig  coming  slowly  through  the 
strange,  transparent  mist.  At  the  same  moment  they  dis- 
covered that  they  were  aground. 

But  what  was  this  approaching  them  ? — a  tall  figure  that 
seemed  to  take  diverse  shapes  as  the  luminous  fog  floated 
this  way  and  that.  Although  they  were  aground  on  the  sand, 
they  could  see  nothing  but  water  as  far  as  their  sight  could 
reach ;  and  this  tall  figure  was  coming  to  them  through  the 
water.  Their  eyes  were  blinded  with  the  humid  mist ;  they 
could  not  see  distinctly ;  but  at  one  moment  they  caught 
sight  of  a  pink  flash  of  flame,  and  afterward  there  was  a  loud 
report  that  was  echoed  by  all  the  hills  around.  Then  the 
fog  around  them  seemed  to  be  filled  with  birds,  screaming 
and  calling,  and  flying  so  near  to  the  dinghy  that  it  was 
apparent  they,  too,  were  bewildered.  More  pink  flashes ; 
more  loud  crashes  of  noise  ;  that  mystic  figure  going  here 
and  there  with  a  sound  of  splashing  water  wherever  he  went. 
Then,  by-and-by,  he  came  nearer ;  and  they  perceived  that 
he  was  slowly  wading  through  the  sea,  and  carrying  in  his 
hand  a  number  of  birds. 

"  Oh,  James ! "  his  sister  cried,  "  have  you  been  in  the 
water  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  And  not  for  nothing,"  he  said,  holding  up  five  curlew, 
which  he  deposited  in  the  bow  of  the  dinghy.  "  The  birds 
are  confused  by  the  fog ;  I  could  have  shot  twenty  dozen  of 
sea-pyots." 


250  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  You  have  not  even  your  shooting-boots  and  gaiters  on," 
his  anxious  sister  said. 

"  I  began  by  taking  off  my  shoes  and  socks  aUogether," 
he  answered ;  "  but  these  flats  of  sand  are  filled  with  small 
flounders,  and  it  is  a  most  horrid  sensation  to  find  them 
shooting  away  from  beneath  your  feet.  I  had  to  put  on  my 
shoes  again.     But  what  has  brought  you  up  here  ? " 

He  was  talking  quite  cheerfully.  Violet,  who  dared  not 
look  at  him,  felt  every  tone  of  his  voice  sink  into  her  heart : 
it  was  the  old  friendly  voice — and  it  spoke  of  nothing  but 
friendship. 

The  question  had  been  addressed  to  her,  as  she  happened 
to  be  nearest  him  ;  and  she  started. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  sudden  embarrassment,  "  we  brought 
you  some  lunch." 

"  Why,  you  are  fast  aground,"  he  said — and  there  was 
certainly  no  embarrassment  in  his  speech  to  her — he  seemed 
to  have  recovered  all  his  ordinary  equanimity  and  brightness. 
"  And  so  is  the  gig,  back  there.  If  you  are  going  to  have 
luncheon  now,  I  must  wade  back  to  the  gig,  and  tell  the  men 
to  come  along  when  the  tide  floats  them." 

"  Uncle,"  said  a  young  lady  in  the  boat,  looking  over  at 
the  beautiful  clear  water  and  the  fine  sand,  "  would  you  let 
me  wade  over  to  the  gig  ? " 

"  For  shame,  child  !  "  her  mother  said. 

There  was  another  young  lady  in  the  boat  who,  in  other 
circumstances,  would  have  dearly  liked  to  have  gone  on  a 
wading  expedition  ;  but  she  was  thinking  of  different  matters 
at  the  moment. 

Eventually  it  was  decided  that  there  was  no  need  to  apprise 
the  occupants  of  the  gig,  for  the  fog  was  gradually  clearing, 
and  by-and-by  they  would  be  able  to  make  signs.  The  hum- 
ble store  of  provisions  was  opened.  Mr.  Drummond,  having 
wrung  his  trousers  as  much  as  possible,  got  in  at  the  bow, 
and  sat  there,  so  as  not  to  damage  the  ladies'  dresses.  It 
was  a  sufficiently  cheerful  meal.  An  outsider  would  have 
imagined  that  these  people  were  just  as  they  had  been  two 
days  before. 

Was  it  an  excited  fancy  that  made  her  think  she  could  de- 
tect a  somewhat  forced  tone  in  his  cheerfulness  ?  Was  he 
striving  to  make  it  appear  to  her  that  he  was  quite  happy 
and  contented  ?  Certainly,  he  was  as  vivacious,  rapid,  and 
ingenious  in  his  talk  as  ever — starting  away  from  a  letter 
which  he  had  received  that  morning,  in  which  his  correspond- 
ent spoke  of  his  having  accompanied  a  great  man  of  letters 


CROSS-CURRENTS,  251 

— remarkable  alike  for  his  personal  force  of  character  and 
for  the  Northern  ruggedness  and  earnestness  of  his  writings 
— to  the  British  Museum  to  look  at  the  Elgin  Marbles.  The 
fact  that  this  celebrated  person  could  see  nothing  interesting 
or  impressive  in  these  remains  of  Greek  art  was  to  this 
preacher — sitting  on  the  bow  of  the  dinghy,  with  his  wet 
shoes  placed  on  a  thwart,  and  a  plate  supported  on  his  knees 
— a  fruitful  text.  They  had  a  lecture  on  the  fundamental 
antagonism  between  the  Northern  mind,  stern,  realistic, 
eagerly  seeking  after  moral  value  and  individual  portraiture, 
and  the  soft,  bland  imagination  of  the  South,  placing  its  ideal 
types  in  an  atmosphere  of  perpetual  repose.  In  the  intervals 
of  this  meal  of  cold  beef  and  bread  they  heard  the  lecturer 
declare  his  own  enthusiastic  preference  for  the  North — 
how  the  individual  character  in  a  portrait  by  Rembrandt  had 
more  fascination  for  him  than  the  blank  faces  of  a  hundred 
Apollos — how  that  the  highest  excellence  of  art  was  that 
which  most  keenly  touched  the  highest  emotions  of  the  hu- 
man being — how  that  the  ballad  of  "  Helen  of  Kirkconnell  " 
was  worth  twenty  dozen  of  "  Iliads  "—how  that  the  mystery 
of  the  Northern  imagination  that  made  the  common  objects 
of  the  world  around  us  strange  and  wonderful —  But  at  this 
point  the  lecture  was  broken  off,  for  a  certain  young  lady 
handed  her  uncle  a  tumbler  of  ale  over  the  shoulder  of  one 
of  the  men.  Resuming,  the  lecturer  declared  that  the  grand- 
eur of  a  mountain  could  not  be  understood  unless  there  were 
mists  floating  about  it ;  and  that  he  had  always  had  a  pro- 
found affection  for  the  sailor  of  the  anecdote-books  who,  com- 
ing on  deck  in  the  English  Channel,  on  a  voyage  homeward 
from  the  Mediterranean,  and  finding  himself  surrounded  with 
driving  sleet,  and  fog,  and  east  winds,  remarked,  "  Ha !  this 
is  weather  as  is  weather ;  none  o'  your  hanged  blue  skies ! " 
Then  he  spoke  of  the  reverence  which  men  in  all  ages  had 
paid  to  the  artist,  who  was  to  them  the  nearest  approach  to 
the  Creator :  he  could  not  make  his  creations  eternal,  but  at 
least  he  could  give  them  some  little  permanence,  and  rescue 
from  destruction  and  forgetfulness  the  passing  glory  of  a  sun- 
set, the  tender  beauty  of  a  moonlight  night,  or  th'e  happy 
laughter  of  a  girl's  face — 

"  Is  this  part  of  your  new  book,  uncle  ? "  said  the  young  lady. 

"  No,"  he  continued,  calmly.  "  My  new  book  will  be  de- 
voted to  giving  lessons  in  good  manners  to  impertinent  young 
misses  who  ought  to  be  at  school." 

"  And  when  will  it  be  published  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  anxiously  awaiting  it.     It  will  be 


252  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

out  as  soon  as  I  have  started  the  magazine  that  is  to  review 
it  favorably." 

"  Will  you  let  me  write  the  review  ?  "  Mrs.  Warrener  asked. 

"  But  this  is  a  great  project,"  he  said,  seriously,  to  his  sister. 
"  I  can  see  a  large  fortune  looming  in  the  distance.  I  calcu- 
late that  there  are  at  least  forty  thousand  people  in  this 
country  continually  writing  books,  tracts,  and  pamphlets  that 
are  so  confoundedly  foolish  that  no  review  will  notice  them. 
Very  well.  My  Universal  Review  will  set  to  work  to  praise 
every  one  of  these  books  and  pamphlets ;  then  I  shall  have 
forty  thousand  people  declaring  that  the  Univ£rsal  Review  is 
the  greatest  and  wisest  journal  in  the  world ;  and  with  a  cir- 
culation of  forty  thousand  at  sixpence  a  number,  I  have  no 
need  to  appeal  to  the  public  at  large  at  all.     Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  And  will  you  do  all  the  praising  yourself } "  she  meekly 
asked. 

"  Not  a  line  of  it.  I  patent  the  invention,  but  I  don't  drive 
the  engine.  I  shall  get  an  amiable  young  curate  ;  and  I  will 
put  it  to  him  that,  as  there  is  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  se- 
verity and  cruel  wrong-doing  in  reviewing,  he  is  called  upon  to 
restore  the  proper  balance  of  things  by  introducing  a  large 
measure  of  charity  and  benevolence.  He  will  do  a  generous 
work ;  and  I  shall  have  my  forty  thousand  sixpences.  Even 
should  my  success  encourage  rivals — " 

'■^ There  iss  a  skart  out  there,  sir  P^  called  out  Alec,  in  a  low^, 
eager  voice,  for  the  gig  had  been  by  this  time  paddled  up  to 
the  dinghy. 

"Where?" 

"  Out  there,  sir — sweemen  in  the  watte r,"  was  the  quick  an- 
sw^er ;  for  the  young  sailor  was  far  more  anxious  to  get  after 
the  birds  than  the  sportsman  of  this  little  party. 

Far  out  among  the  blue  ripples — almost  in  the  middle  of 
bay — they  could  descry  a  black  object  floating  on  the  sea. 
Now  Mrs.  Warrener  had  for  some  time  back  declared  her 
intention  of  having  one  of  those  huge  black-green  skarts 
stuffed  and  put  up  in  the  hall  of  the  cottage  in  Camberwell 
Grove,  and  she  had  repeatedly  besought  her  brother  to  shoot 
one  for  her.  His  efforts  had  so  far  been  unsuccessful.  The 
skart  is  a  quick  diver,  a  rapid  flier,  and,  although  his  body  is 
big  enough  as  a  target,  his  thick,  strong  plumage  is  not  easily 
pierced  by  ordinary  shot.  Besides,  Mr.  Drummond  was  gen- 
erally too  intent  on  bagging  curlew,  which  were  good  for  the 
yacht's  larder,  to  care  to  startle  the  neighborhood  by  fir- 
ing random  shots  at  stray  cormorants. 

On  this  occasion,  they  resolved  to  adopt  a  little  bit  of 


CROSS-CURRENTS.  253 

Strategy.  The  dinghy  was  sent  round  the  curve  of  the  shore, 
to  get  to  seaward  of  the  bird,  so  that  it  was  not  likely  to  rise 
when  the  way  was  blocked ;  while  Mr.  Drummond,  getting 
into  the  gig,  was  pulled  away  along  the  other  shore.  By-and- 
by  the  bird  was  between  the  two  boats — swimming  about, 
and  occasionally  diving,  but  showing  no  sign  of  fear.  When, 
however,  the  gig  was  slowly  paddled  out  toward  it,  it  became 
a  trifle  more  alarmed.  It  vv^as  evidently  swimming  away  from 
them,  and  making  for  the  other  side  of  the  loch.  But  there 
was  the  dinghy  ;  and  now  it  became  a  question  whether  the 
dark-green  bird,  with  its  long  neck  and  ungainly  body,  would 
boldly  adventure  a  flight  past  either  of  the  boats,  or  dive. 

Mr.  Drummond  was  up  in  the  bow  of  the  gig,  his  breech- 
loader kept  out  of  sight.  When  they  had  got  to  within  about 
sixty  yards  of  the  skart,  he  stealthily  put  down  his  hand,  but 
almost  at  the  same  moment  the  bird  made  a  plunge  forward 
and  disappeared. 

"  Now,  my  lads,  pull  away  !  "  he  called  out.  "  He'll  rise 
close  to  us — " 

The  bang  of  the  gun  interrupted  the  speech  ;  he  had  fired 
a  snap-shot  at  the  skart,  which  had  come  up  some  forty  yards 
off  on  their  left.  But  the  shot  had  merely  struck  the  water ; 
for  the  bird,  finding  itself  close  to  its  pursuers,  had  immedi- 
ately dived  again. 

They  pulled  quickly  to  the  spot,  and  waited  about,  but  the 
skart  was  evidently  taking  a  good  swim  down  below.  The 
difficulty  of  getting  a  shot  at  him,  moreover,  was  enhanced 
by  the  chances  of  his  rising  somewhere  in  a  line  with  the 
dinghy,  in  which  case  it  would  be  impossible  to  fire,  although 
the  smaller  boat  was  a  long  way  off. 

"  There  he  is,  sir  !  " 

The  big  black  object  was  visible  for  just  a  moment  some 
twenty  yards  astern  ;  and  again  a  charge  of  shot  went  crash- 
ing down  on  the  water. 

"  You  will  hit  him  that  time,  sir,"  called  out  the  eager 
Alec.   "  Ay,  we  will  hef  him  this  time  ;  he  will  no  go  far  now." 

But  when  they  next  saw  this  Jack-in-the-box,  after  the 
lapse  of  a  couple  of  minutes  or  so,  he  was  a  great  distance 
away,  and  tlie  two  boats  had  to  begin  the  chase  anew*  Suf- 
fice it  to  say,  that,  after  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour's 
waiting  about,  and  a  great  deal  of  snap-firing,  the  skart  was 
at  last  stretched  on  the  water ;  and  when  he  was  dragged 
dripping  into  the  boat,  he  was  found  to  be  an  unusually  large 
specimen,  with  especially  fine,  thick,  glossy  plumage.  The 
men  declared  that  they  would  be  "  ferra  glad  to  hef  the  skart 


254  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

to  eat,  and  Alec  he  wass  ferry  cleffer  at  the  skinning,  and  the 
skin  it  could  be  stuffed  ferry  well  whatever." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Drummond  to  them.  "  I  know 
of  old  what  the  cooking  of  a  skart  does  to  a  yacht  ;  you 
v/ouldn't  get  the  smell  out  of  the  forecastle  for  a  week.  You 
may  have  a  couple  of  these  curlev/,  if  you  like  ;  but  no  skart, 
if  you  please." 

It  is  easily  to  be  understood  that  there  was  no  objection 
to  this  course — Alec  being  of  opinion  that  a  curfew  was  "  just 
as  good  as  a  faisant " — and  so  in  great  contentment  they  rowed 
back  through  the  beautiful  bright  afternoon  toward  the  yacht. 
Portree  looked  very  picturesque  as  they  approached  it.  Over 
its  shadowed  rocks  and  trees  stretched  a  silver-gray  sky,  mot- 
tled with  millions  of  small,  faintly  yellow  clouds — a  clear — 
bright  ethereal  sunset ;  its  w^hite  houses,  its  dark-green  firs 
and  bushes  and  boats,  were  distinctly  seen  in  the  cold  twilight 
underneath,  while  a  pale-blue  smoke  from  the  chimneys  arose 
to  the  glowing  sky  overhead. 

When  Violet  got  on  board,  she  went  down  to  her  little 
cabin,  and  took  out  from  her  pocket  the  letter  which  had  so 
deeply  moved  her  in  the  morning.  She  read  it  again — this 
time  with  less  emotion.  So  far,  indeed,  from  the  letter  mak- 
ing any  appeal  to  her  feelings,  it  was  studiously  cold  ;  it  was 
this  very  coldness  that  had  startled  and  pained  her — that 
had  brought  with  it  an  accusation  which  she  could  not  alto- 
gether repel.  She  felt  she  deserved  to  have  this  former 
friend  of  hers  address  her  as  "  Dear  Miss  North."  She 
had  been  thoughtless  in  allowing  him  to  nourish  illusions  for 
so  long  a  time  ;  she  ought  not  to  have  listened  to  his  prayers 
for  delay  and  further  consideration ;  she  had  been  selfishly 
forgetful  of  his  pain  and  disappointment  in  the  enjoyment 
of  her  own  newly-found  happiness.  All  this  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  her  on  her  first  reading  of  this  letter ;  and  she 
knew  that  she  could  make  no  reparation. 

But  on  one  point  her  pride  was  touched.  The  writer  of 
this  cold,  formal,  business-like  letter  went  on  to  say  that  he 
considered  he  was  bound  to  inform  Sir  Acton  North  of  what 
had  occurred  in  so  far  as  it  affected  him,  Mr.  Miller.  That 
is  to  say,  the  young  man,  having  had  his  suit  approved  by 
Violet's  father,  would  go  and  inform  him  that  these  relations 
were  now  at  an  end.  He  wished  to  know,  therefore,  whether 
Miss  North  would  prefer  his  confining  his  statement  to  that 
one  point,  or  whether  he  was  to  tell  the  whole  story. 

Violet  could  not  brook  for  a  moment  what  she  regarded 
as  a  sort  of  insinuation.     Thus  it  was  she  had  demanded  to 


CKOSS-CLII^^RENTS.  255 

be  put  on  shore  immediatel}^ ;  and  at  the  post-office  she  had 
telegraphed  as  follows  :  "  I  am  deeply  sorry  if  you  are  pained. 
As  regards  my  father,  you  may  tell  him  what  you  please." 

And  now,  as  she  still  held  George  Miller's  letter  in  her 
hand,  and  looked  at  it  without  seeing  a  word  in  it,  she  was 
asking  herself  whether  the  young  man  w^ould  really  tell  her 
father  the  w^iole  story.  That  morning  she  had  no  reason  to 
dread  such  a  revelation  ;  she  had,  indeed,  intended  to  sit 
down  and  write  to  her  father  a  good  deal  more  than  George 
Miller  knew ;  she  had  even  settled  in  her  own  mind  how  she 
would  begin  the  letter — "  My  dear  papa,  I  am  the  very  proud- 
est and  happiest  woman  in  the  whole  world.  At  last  I  know 
what  it  is  to  have  one's  admiration  and  love  go  hand-in- 
hand—" 

But  since  that  morning  something  strange  had  occurred. 
She  did  not  quite  know  what  it  was  ;  but  it  had  greatly 
changed  the  world  for  her.  Her  mind  w^as  filled  with  dim 
forebodings,  and  even  with  a  dull  sense  of  pain,  that  seemed 
to  blur  and  confuse  her  perceptions  of  the  things  around  her. 

Then,  with  a  sudden  and  resolute  effort  of  v/iil,  she  roused 
herself.  She  would  go  frankly  and  courageously  to  Mr. 
Drummond,  and  demand  to  know  the  worst.  If  this  gent- 
lest and  truest  of  all  her  friends  was  pained  on  her  account 
— if  her  presence  there  caused  him  the  least  em.barrassment 
in  the  world — if,  to  please  her,  he  was  acting  a  part  of  forced 
cheerfulness — she  would  proudly  and  gladly  set  him  free.  If  it 
was  true  that  he  had  nothing  to  offer  her  but  that  constant 
and  tender  affection  he  had  shown  her  ever  since  he  had 
known  her  as  a  school-girl  and  tlie  companion  of  his  niece, 
she  would  meekly  and  gratefully  accept  that,  and  let  the 
dream  of  her  life  go  with  a  sigh. 

She  could  not  go  to  him.  The  red  blood  tingled  in  her 
cheek  as  she  thought  of  the  manner  in  which  he  might  meet 
her  question.  Could  a  girl  so  far  demean  herself  as  to  ask 
for  love  ;  could  she  more  especially,  who  knew  the  great  pos- 
sibilities of  unselfishness  in  this  man's  nature,  run  the  risk 
of  calling  on  him  to  sacrifice  himself  for  her  happiness — the 
happiness  of  a  mere  school-girl  ?  No,  she  was  too  proud  for 
that.  She  would  wait  to  see  whether  it  was  true  that  they  had 
blundered  into  a  false  position  ;  if  that  were  so,  she  would  find 
some  means  of  freeing  them  both.  What  mattered  a  school- 
girl's happiness,  she  again  asked  herself .?  The  sun  would  rise 
all  the  same  over  these  Skye  hills  to-morrow,  next  year,  fifty 
years  hence.  Who  was  to  care  about  her  and  the  disappoint- 
ment of  her  eirlish  dreams  ? 


256  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOMEWARD   BOUND. 

When,  on  that  beautiful  morning  at  Isle  Ornsay,  they  first 
saw  the  glowing  wonders  of  Skye  and  the  Sound  of  Sleat, 
they  were  full  of  a  new  enthusiasm,  and  eager  to  go  still 
farther  on  in  their  explorations.  Supposing  that  they  should 
get  to  Portree — this  was  the  subject  of  general  talk  and 
speculation — why  should  they  not  make  a  bold  dash  across 
the  Minch  to  far  Stornoway  and  the  solitudes  of  the  Outer 
Hebrides  ?  With  a  fair  wind,  and  provided  that  the  Greater 
Minch  was  not  rolling  mountains  high  before  a  north-easterly 
gale,  they  might  do  the  sixty-five  miles  between  Portree  and 
the  Lewis  in  a  da}^  They  would  adventure  it.  They  would 
visit  that  vast  "  peat  floating  in  the  Atlantic."  They  would 
touch  the  "ultima  Thule  "  ofBoethius;  and  was  there  not 
some  talk,  too,  of  letters  of  introduction  to  a  mysterious 
island  potentate  who  had  abundant  salmon-fishing,  and  whose 
daughter  had  a  yacht,  the  marvel  of  these  distant  isles  ? 

But  now,  as  they  lay  in  Portree,  the  last  anchorage  between 
Skye  and  Lewis,  they  did  not  seem  quite  so  enthusiastic  about 
this  project.  Mrs.  Warrener  considered  that,  before  attempt- 
ing a  voyage  round  the  Outer  Hebrides,  they  should  get  back 
to  Castle  Bandbox  and  get  a  sufficient  supply  of  all  sorts  of 
necessaries.  Her  daughter  had  been  making  private  and 
anxious  inquiries  of  Captain  Jimmy,  who  had  frightened  her 
with  the  possibility  of  their  being  becalmed  out  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  Minch — as  he  had  been  the  summer  before — for 
three  days  and  nights,  with  the  heavy  Atlantic  swell  rolling 
the  Sea-Pyot  about  in  a  fashion  which  a  landswoman  would 
not  readily  forget.  All  these  and  other  considerations  were 
being  discussed  at  breakfast,  Violet  alone  being  silent  and 
distraite.  At  last,  Mr.  Drummond,  deeming  that  his  guest 
had  the  best  right  to  decide,  frankly  asked  her  what  she 
would  rather  do. 

Now  the  girl  had  lain  awake  nearly  the  whole  night,  and 
she  was  nervous,  troubled,  almost  in  an  hysterical  state. 
She  had  been  thinking  of  that  beautiful,  enthusiastic  time  at 
Isle  Ornsay ;  and  somehow,  when  he  put  this  question  sud- 
denly to  her,  the  difference  between  that  time  and  this  so 
overcame  her  that  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  could  not 
speak.  She  endeavore'd  to  escape  unperceived ;  but  his  ques- 
tion had  drawn  attention  to  her.     When  she  quietly  left  the 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  257 

saloon,  Mrs.  Warrener  followed  ;  her  daughter  remained,  con- 
vinced that  there  was  something  behind  all  this  that  she  did 
not  understand. 

-  Then  she  saw  her  uncle  rise,  and  he  was  obviously  very 
much  agitated.  All  the  generous  kindliness  of  the  man's 
nature  revolted  against  the  wretchedness  which  this  girl  was 
too  clearly  suffering ;  and  could  he  any  longer  doubt  that 
v/hat  his  sister  had  told  him  was  true  ?  The  girl  was  miser- 
able ;  she  should  not  remain  miserable  through  him. 

He  went  on  deck,  where  the  two  women  were  walking  up 
and  down. 

"  Sarah,"  he  said,  with  great  apparent  firmness  and  calm- 
ness, "  I  want  to  speak  to  Violet  for  a  moment." 

His  sister  withdrew,  and  then  he  said,  in  the  same  tone, 

"  I  can  not  let  this  continue,  Violet.  We  have  made  a 
mistake.  Let  us  look  on  what  has  happened  during  these 
past  few  days  as  never  having  happened  at  all,  and  try  to 
forget  it." 

She  heard.  It  was  all  a  mistake,  then.  That  beautiful 
past  was  only  a  dream. 

At  this  moment — she  remembered  it  long  after  with  a 
strange  wonder — she  looked  up  to  his  face  with  a  frank  and 
kindly  smile. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  lightly,  "  we  have  made  a  mistake.  Is 
it  not  fortunate  that  we  have  found  out  so  soon — before 
there  is  any  harm  done  .''  Now  we  can  be  as  we  were  before  : 
and  it  is — it  is  quite  fortunate  there  is  no  harm  done.  Shall 
we  go  down  now  "i  I  must  apologize  to  them,  and  promise  to 
make  no  more  scenes." 

She  seemed  quite  pleased,  and  she  smiled ;  but  he  noticed 
that  the  small  white  hand  v/hich  she  placed  on  the  top  of 
the  companion-stairs  to  steady  her  descent  trembled  so  vio- 
lently that  he  thought  she  must  have  fallen.  He  could  not 
understand  all  this  ;  but  the  girl  had  an  excitable  tempera- 
ment :  perhaps  the  events  of  the  last  few  days  had  been  a 
little  too  much  for  her  nerves. 

She  was  quite  mirthful  during  breakfast.  She  said  she 
did  not  care  whether  they  went  on  to  Stornoway  or  back  to 
Castle  Bandbox,  so  long  as  they  lived  in  this  curious  little 
floating  house,  with  its  miscellaneous  groceries,  and  expedi- 
ents in  cooking,  and  makeshifts,  and  mishaps.  On  the  whole, 
she  thought  they  had  better  go  back  and  fit  out  for  the  longer 
trip.  At  present,  at  all  events,  they  could  not  go  on  to  Stor- 
noway at  all ;  for  there  was  scarcely  any  wind. 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  delighted  to  see  the  girl  once  more 
17 


258  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

bright  and  cheerful :  she  knew  that  the  desired  explanation 
had  at  length  been  made,  and  happier  days  were  in  store  for 
all  of  them.  So  she,  too,  gave  in  her  vote  for  returning ; 
not  without  the  secret  hope  that  they  might  find  George 
Miller  awaiting  them  at  Castle  Bandbox. 

When  they  went  on  deck,  accordingly,  they  found  the 
great  mainsail  hanging  loose  in  the  sunlight,  though  there 
was  scarcely  enough  wind  to  make  the  canvas  flap,  while 
the  men  were  hoisting  the  gaff-topsail.  Far  up  in  the  blue, 
the  small  red  pennon  at  the  topmast  gleamed  like  a  tongue 
of  flame.  The  water  was  almost  smooth  around  them,  show- 
ing accurate  reflections  of  the  motionless  white  clouds,  and 
of  the  dusky  mountains  over  there  that  were  mostly  in 
shadow.  In  the  south,  and  behind  the  olives  and  browns  of 
these  great  shoulders  of  rock,  stood  the  sharply  serrated 
line  of  the  Cuchullins,  the  peaks  of  a  pale  transparent  blue. 

They  managed  to  get  out  of  the  harbor,  and,  once  fairly  in 
the  open,  they  saw  how  impossible  it  would  have  been  to 
have  attempted  Stornoway  at  this  time.  Away  out  there,  in 
the  direction  of  the  Minch,  the  sea  was  like  glass  ;  here  at 
hand  there  was  a  slight  breeze  that  just  kept  the  boat  going, 
but  that  breeze  was  from  the  north-east.  Miss  Amy,  for 
one,  was  glad  they  were  not  going  to  risk  being  becalmed 
for  a  few  days  on  the  long  Atlantic  swell. 

When,  however,  they  had  crept  down  to  the  Sound  of 
Raasay,  the  slight  breeze  that  had  carried  them  so  far  died 
off  altogether  ;  and  they  were  motionless  in  a  dead  calm. 
The  sea  was  a  perfect  mirror,  in  which  that  long  panorama  of 
mountains — faint  and  mystical  in  the  heat  of  the  sun — was 
reflected  with  a  surprising  exactness.  There  was  neither  a 
house  nor  a  ship  within  sight.  They  seemed  absolutely  alone 
in  a  world  of  glassy  water,  of  silent  hills,  and  motionless 
skies. 

In  ordinary  circumstances  this  would  have  been  a  time  for 
novel-reading,  card-playing,  sewing,  smoking,  and  so  on — the 
various  amusements  and  occupations  possible  on  board  ship  ; 
but  curiously  enough  they  did  not  seem  to  be  much  in  want 
of  any  such  means  of  passing  the  time.  James  Drummond 
kept  pacing  up  and  down  the  deck — like  a  caged  hyena,  said 
his  sister,  who  was  in  the  best  of  spirits — answering  the 
questions  or  remarks  addressed  to  him  rather  absently. 
Violet  was  perfectly  .silent,  and  sat  apart,  looking  out  to  sea. 
Her  accustomed  companion,  seeing  the  girl  looked  rather 
fatigued  and  wearied,  tried  to  induce  her  to  join  in  some  sport 
or  other,  but  without  avail. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  259 

At  this  moment,  indeed,  the  very  number  of  conflicting 
emotions  pressing  in  on  the  girl  prevented  her  realizing  to  the 
utmost  her  desolation  and  misery.  She  had  so  many  things 
to  think  of  ;  so  many  recollections  to  recall  ;  so  many  quick, 
contrary,  puzzling  interpretations  to  consider  of  all  this  that 
had  happened.  She  was  a  trifle  bewildered,  perhaps,  so  that 
the  keen  edge  of  her  wretchedness  was  blunted.  For  one 
moment,  for  example,  she  would  think  with  some  slight  sur- 
prise of  the  readiness  with  which  he  had  thrown  up  this 
engagement ;  the  next  she  would  accuse  herself  of  selfish- 
ness in  expecting  that  he  would  continue  to  act  a  lie  for  her 
sake.  Was  it  not  better  for  both,  indeed,  that  the  truth 
should  be  known  ?  There  was  no  harm  done,  she  had 
assured  him.     In  a  short  time  all  would  be  as  it  had  been. 

At  the  same  time,  she  felt  very  lonely.  She  had  no  mother. 
There  were  certain  things  about  which  she  did  not  care  to 
speak  even  to  this  kind  friend  who  had  tried  to  be  as  good  as 
a  mother  to  her. 

"  Violet,"  said  the  young  girl  near  her,  coming  up  to  her 
and  putting  her  arm  round  her  neck,  "  you  will  blind  your 
eyes  if  you  look  so  constantly  at  the  sea.  I  wish  you  would 
come  and  persuade  Captain  Jimmy  to  make  us  some  of  those 
rope-quoits  you  were  speaking  of — come  !" 

"  No,  thank  you,  dear,"  she  said,  rising  ;  "  I  am  going  down 
to  write  a  letter." 

"  And  where  do  you  mean  to  post  it  .-*  "  said  Amy,  with  a 
laugh.     "  In  a  bottle  ?  " 

"  I  only  want  to  write  it :  we  can  post  it  at  the  first  place 
we  land." 

"  Don't  be  too  curious,  Amy,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a 
smile.  "  To  write  to  one's  friends  in  absence  is  like  having  a 
talk  with  them  ;  and  that  is  pleasant  to  you  without  thinking 
of  how  the  letter  is  to  be  forwarded." 

But  Mrs.  Warrener  was  wrong  in  her  conjecture  as  to  the 
person  with  whom  Violet  wished  to  converse  in  this  silent  and 
mystic  fashion.  She  had  no  intention  of  writing  a  long  love- 
letter,  full  of  contrition  for  past  cruelty,  and  promises  of  kind- 
ness in  the  future.  She  took  advantage  of  the  dead  calm  to 
write  the  following  few  lines  to  her  father : 

«  Yacht  Sea-Pyot,  off  the  Coast  of  Skye,  Sept.  — ,  187-. 

"  My  dear  Papa, — I  suppose  by  this  time  Mr.  Miller  has 

told  you  that  he  has  asked  me  definitely  to  marry  him,  and 

that  I  refused.     I  could  not  marry  him.     I  waited  a  long  time 

to  see,  because  he  was  so  anxious  about  it,  but  it  was  no  use  ; 


26o  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

and  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  caused  him  pain  or  annoyance. 
And  so  you  see,  dear  papa,  as  I  am  not  engaged,  and  have  no 
prospect  of  getting  married  to  any  body,  I  am  thrown  on  your 
hands  again,  hke  a  bad  six  pence.  I  had  some  notion  that 
you  had  got  rid  of  me  at  last ;  but  I  really  could  not  bring  my- 
self to  marry  Mr.  Miller.  Now  what  I  want  you  to  do,  dear 
papa,  is  this.  I  do  not  think  I  can  stay  longer  with  Mrs. 
Warrener  when  they  return  to  town.  They  have  been  more 
kind  to  me  than  I  can  tell  you — all  of  them  ;  I  have  never 
seen  any  body  in  my  life  treated  with  such  constant  kindness ; 
I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  them.  But  I  don't 
think  I  can  always  stay  with  them  ;  and  do  you  think,  dear 
papa,  you  could  board  me  out  somewhere  when  I  get  back  to 
London  ?  I  should  be  sorry  to  trouble  Lady  North  ;  if  we  did 
agree  for  a  time,  my  temper  would  soon  break  the  whole  thing 
up  again.  And  if  you  could  think  of  some  way,  dear  papa,  in 
which  I  could  be  useful — I  should  not  like  to  be  living  like  a 
genteel  pauper,  doing  nothing,  caring  for  nothing.  I  should 
like  to  earn  my  own  living,  if  you  would  allow  me  ;  and  I  have 
been  thinking  of  two  or  three  ways.  They  say  my  figure  is 
passable  ;  I  might  become  one  of  those  living  models  that  the 
big  milliners  have  for  showing  ladies'  dresses — ^walking  up 
and  down,  you  know,  before  the  purchaser.  Or  I  might  get 
a  place  in  one  of  those  large  restaurants,  to  serve  behind  the 
bar ;  but  I  fear  that  would  tend  to  give  me  a  low  opinion  of 
my  fellow-beings.  I  could  not  be  a  governess  ;  I  should  box 
the  dear  creatures'  ears  when  they  were  impertinent :  besides, 
that  trip  to  Canada  pretty  nearly  put  an  end  to  my  music.  I 
could  not  take  to  dress-making  ;  because  I  make  nearly  all  my 
own  dresses,  and  I  would  not  make  another  woman's  for  her, 
to  encourage  her  in  her  idleness.  So  what  is  there  left  ?  I 
am  glad  that  I  am  not  a  father,  with  a  bad  sixpence  always 
turning  up  ;  but  I  am  your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Violet  North." 

She  went  on  deck. 

"  Violet,"  said  Mr.  Drummond  to  her,  speaking  in  a  very 
kindly  way,  and  noticing  that  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  "if 
you  want  your  letter  posted  soon,  we  will  go  in  to  Broadford 
instead  of  going  on — that  is,  if  we  are  ever  to  see  Broadford 
again." 

"  Oh  no,  thank  you,"  she  said,  with  much  distinctness. 
"  The  letter  is  in  no  hurry.  It  is  quite  a  question,  indeed, 
whether  it  catches  papa  in  town." 

"  Have  you  written  only  to  your  papa  ? "  said  Mrs.  War- 
rener, concealing  a  smile. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  261 

"  I  have  written  only  to  papa,"  the  girl  said,  turning  round 
with  some  surprise. 

They  did  get  down  to  Broadford,  however,  creeping  along 
before  the  occasional  puffs  of  wind,  which  were  becoming 
more  frequent.  When  they  drew  near  the  opening  of  the 
bay,  they  had  then  to  decide  whether  they  would  go  in  and 
anchor  for  the  night,  or  go  on  ;  the  skipper  being  altogether 
in  favor  of  going  on,  partly  because  he  always  expressed  a 
certain  doubt  about  the  safety  of  Broadford  Bay,  and  partly 
because  there  were  indications  that  this  too  fine  weather 
would  not  last.  So  on  they  went,  in  the  wonderful  roseate 
evening,  watching  the  colors  die  out  on  the  hills,  and  the  first 
yellow  glimmer  of  the  Loch  Alsh  light-house  appear  in  the 
gathering  gray.  What  wind  there  was  began  to  shift  about 
somewhat ;  they  had  the  topsail  taken  down  as  they  got  into 
the  narrower  waters  between  Balmacarra  and  Kyle- Akin. 
When,  after  dinner  that  night,  the  voyagers  came  on  deck,  as 
was  their  wont,  they  saw  that  the  moon  behind  the  black  hills 
of  Skye  had  an  ominous  ring  round  it.  They  were  clearly 
approaching  the  end  of  that  long  spell  of  fine  weather. 

But  the  wind  did  not  rise  till  next  morning  about  seven  or 
eight  o'clock.  All  through  the  night  they  had  been  creeping 
along  through  the  dangerous  Narrows  of  Skye  and  into  the 
opener  waters  of  Glenelg  Bay ;  and  it  was  well  that  they  had 
fair  sea-room  when  this  squally  south-eastern  gale  began  to 
blow.  In  a  very  short  space  of  time  the  aspect  of  things  was 
considerably  changed.  When  Mr.  Drummond  put  his  head 
up  the  companion,  he  got  some  intimation  of  what  was  going 
on  by  finding  his  cap  caught  by  the  wind  and  whirled  out  to 
sea.  He  returned  with  the  report  that  it  was  raining  hard ; 
a  good  stiff  breeze  blowing ;  the  sea  rising. 

Smothered  in  water-proofs,  they  made  their  morning  ap- 
pearance on  deck.  What  a  change  !  Watery  mists  half  hid- 
ing the  gloomy  mountains  of  the  main-land;  the  sun  only  a 
confused  glow  of  light  behind  the  w^hirling  masses  of  vapor  ; 
the  sea  a  stormy  and  desolate  waste  of  gray-green,  with  the 
long,  rushing,  roaring  lines  of  the  sea-horses  coming  sweep- 
ing along  to  break  on  the  plunging  bows  of  the  vessel.  Vio- 
let was  glad  of  all  this — of  the  new,  keen  life  and  motion  that 
had  burst  upon  them ;  she  would  go  into  no  shelter ;  she 
stood  with  her  face  glowing  red  with  the  beating  rain,  with 
her  teeth  set  against  the  wind,  with  her  eyes  proud  and  glad 
for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  at  this  place  before. 
No  longer  did  she  look  at  the  rain-desolated  Isle  Ornsay,  or 
the  gloomy  mountains  of  Loch  Hourn,  with  any  thing  of  sen- 


262  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

timental  regret.  This  wild  day  seemed  better  fitted  to  her 
now.  In  her  reckless  feeling  of  the  moment,  she  hoped  the 
gale  would  increase  a  hundred-fold ;  had  she  been  alone  on 
board,  she  would  have  been  glad,  perhaps,  had  the  vessel 
gone  foundering  down  to  the  bottom.  The  past  was  gone — 
with  its  fair  summer  skies,  its  blue  seas,  its  thousand  secret 
and  tender  hopes ;  now  let  the  wild  winds  blow  as  they 
pleased ! 

And  they  did  blow,  though  not  at  the  bidding  of  an  un- 
happy girl.  Captain  Jimmy  had  very  speedily  to  reef  his 
mainsail ;  and  the  hatches  were  closed,  for  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  water  coming  leaping  over  the  Sea-Pyofs  bows. 

"  We  shall  have  a  heavy  sea  on  before  we  get  down  to 
Ardnamurchan,"  said — or  rather  shouted — Mr.  Drummond 
to  his  skipper. 

"  Na,"  said  Jimmy,  with  the  rain  running  down  his  nose, 
"  na,  na,  it  will  be  no  a  ferry  bad  sea;  but,"  he  added,  cau- 
tiously, "  it  will  be  better  if  the  leddies  will  put  the  things  in 
the  cabin  safe — that  will  be  better  whatever." 

Indeed,  long  before  they  got  to  Ardnamurchan  they  had 
need  to  make  things  secure,  for  the  gale  had  raised  a  heavy 
sea,  which  tossed  about  the  small  Sea-Pyot  like  a  cork,  and 
rattled  the  glasses  and  candlesticks  below  in  an  alarming 
manner.  Yet  there  was  much  delight  in  this  day's  voyage — 
through  the  plunging  seas  and  whirling  rains,  and  past  the 
bleak  and  desolate  islands  lying  in  the  waste  of  waters. 
There  was  little  opportunity  for  speaking ;  there  were  many 
things  to  claim  attention  ;  Violet,  for  one,  was  glad  of  the  ex- 
citement and  distraction  afforded  by  the  storm.  As  the  day 
wore  on,  the  violence  of  the  wind  increased  ;  and  w^hen  at 
lengt,h  they  got  down  to  Ardnamurchan  and  faced  the  mouth 
of  the  Sound  of  Mull,  the  sea  was  running  high  enough  to 
cause  the  yacht  to  groan  and  creak  in  all  her  timbers  as  she 
rose  and  plunged  with  the  waves.  The  skipper  did  not  at 
all  like  the  look  of  the  sky.  There  were  intervals  of  a  strange 
darkness,  followed  by  periods  of  a  no  less  strange  light,  when 
the  sun  seemed  to  be  shining  through  a  mass  of  vapor  quite 
close  at  hand.  Along  the  western  horizon  there  was  a  curi- 
ous copper  color.  No  one  was  particularly  sorry  when  the 
Sea-Pyot  succeeded  in  running  into  Tobermory  Bay. 

But  even  here,  in  this  small  harbor,  the  gale  pursued  them  ; 
and  in  the  dusk  they  could  hear  the  heavy  waves  dashing 
against  the  sea-wall  and  the  quay.  Before  turning  in  for 
the  night,  the  skipper  threw  out  his  second  anchor,  and  an 
anchor-watch  was  ordered.     During  that  wild  night,  some  of 


HOMEWARD  BOUND,  263 

those  in  the  small  cabins  lay  awake  and  listened  to  the  creak- 
ing of  the  timbers  as  the  yacht  plunged  and  rolled  at  her 
anchorage,  and  to  the  long  swish  of  the  waves  along  her 
sides ;  and  even  these  sounds  were  scarcely  so  ominous  as 
the  tramp  of  men  overhead  and  the  calling  of  the  skipper — 
he  having  g:ot  his  mates  up  at  two  in  the  morning  to  lower 
the  topmast  and  take  the  gig  in  from  her  davits  on  deck,  so 
that  the  wind  should  have  less  pressure  on  the  yacht.  Had 
she  dragged  her  anchors  that  night,  there  would  have  been 
no  need  to  tell  this  story. 

In  the  morning  the  state  of  affairs  v/as  even  worse.  The 
gale  had  increased  in  fury.  Here,  in  this  small  harbor,  huge 
green  waves  went  rolling  by — their  summits  caught  and 
whirled  away  in  foam  by  the  wind,  to  dash  on  the  sea-wall 
of  the  little  town  and  send  volumes  of  spray  on  to  the  houses 
and  shops.  All  the  doors  were  shut  against  the  storm. 
The  blue  smoke  from  one  or  two  chimneys  was  blown  this 
way  and  that  by  squalls  of  wind  ;  and  now  and  again  the 
woods  on  the  hill  beside  the  town  were  swept  by  flying  rain- 
clouds.  Out  at  sea  nothing  was  visible  but  the  white  crests 
of  the  breakers  ;  but  here  in  the  bay  the  crews  of  the  coast- 
ers— black  and  bulky  craft  that  rolled  heavily  in  the  waves 
— were  busy  making  themselves  as  secure  as  they  could  with 
extra  cables.  It  was  a  sufficiently  perilous  business  for  two 
men  who  were  in  a  small  boat ;  and  who,  every  minute  or  so, 
were  completely  lost  to  sight  in  the  trough  of  a  great  wave, 
vv^hile  at  other  times  the  water  could  be  seen  breaking  over 
them  in  drenching  showers. 

Of  course  there  was  no  chance  of  getting  out  that  day ;  it 
was  for  a  long  time  doubtful  whether  they  dared  venture 
ashore,  short  as  the  distance  was.  At  length  Mr.  Drummond 
volunteered  to  go  ashore  in  the  gig  with  a  couple  of  men  to 
post  Violet's  letter.     But  she  would  not  give  the  letter  up. 

"  I  am  going,  in  any  case,"  said  he.  "  You  may  as  well 
allow  me  to  post  your  letter  for  you." 

She  stood  irresolute,  impatient,  embarrassed  :  she  had  a 
great  wish  to  implore  him,  for  her  sake,  not  to  venture  ;  but 
how  could  she  do  so  now  ?  The  men  were  lowering  the  gig. 
Drummond  was  buttoning  on  a  big  sou'-wester. 

"  Now,  Violet :  the  letter,  if  you  please." 

She  suddenly  pulled  it  from  her  pocket,  tore  it  in  a  dozen 
pieces,  and  flung  it  overboard — the  wind  whirling  the  pieces 
away  like  feathers. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that .?  "  said  he.  "  I  must  go  ashore — 
there  is  no  risk." 


264  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

He  jumped  into  the  boat  and  took  the  tiller-ropes  ;  the  men 
pushed  off  from  the  yacht  and  struck  their  oars  into  the 
water ;  the  next  moment  the  gig  was  borne  away  on  the  crest 
of  a  mighty  wave,  only  to  dip  the  next  minute,  and  half  dis- 
appear in  a  cloud  of  windy  spray.  They  nearly  fouled  the 
chain-cable  of  one  of  the  colliers — which  probably  would 
have  ended  their  voyage  for  them  ;  but  having  missed  that 
danger,  they  encountered  no  other ;  and  soon  those  on  board 
the  yacht  saw  through  the  sea-spray  the  tall  figure  of  Mr. 
Drummond  walking  solitarily  along  the  the  high  quay. 

"  Don't  you  know  why  he  has  gone  ashore  ?  "  Mrs.  War- 
rener  said  to  Vio4et,  with  an  amused  look. 

"  No — not  at  all,"  the  girl  said.  "  I  can  imagine  no  reason 
at  all  for  running  into  such  danger." 

"  There  is  not  any  danger.  Captain  Jimmy  says,  only  they 
will  be  drenched  through  in  coming  back." 

"  And  why  did  he  go  ashore  ?  " 

"  To  get  some  new  bread  for  you.  He  was  vexed  that  you 
had  to  eat  biscuit  at  breakfast  this  morning. " 

"  I  would  rather  eat  tarred  rope,"  she  said,  vehemently ; 
and  then  she  stopped  and  turned  away :  she  was  schooling 
herself  to  silence. 

In  due  time  Mr.  Drummond  returned  on  board,  drenched, 
but  successful.  He  had  got  new  bread,  fresh  butter,  a  news- 
paper not  more  than  two  days  old,  some  fresh  milk  and  eggs, 
and  a  cap  to  replace  the  one  of  which  the  sea  had  robbed  him 
the  day  before.  Likewise  there  were  two  or  three  little 
trinkets  for  the  women :  he  said  the  impulse  to  buy  every 
thing  he  saw  was  almost  irresistible — he  had  grown  so  tired 
of  always  finding  the  same  amount  of  money  in  his  pockets. 

The  wild  weather  continued  all  day.  Occasionally  a  brief 
break  appeared  in  the  flying  clouds  ;  and  a  watery  sunshine 
streamed  down  on  the  white  house  of  Tobermory,  and  on  the 
green  trees  over  them  and  around  them  ;  this  flash  of  bright- 
ness being  all  the  more  brilliant  on  account  of  the  black 
masses  of  rain-cloud  forming  the  background  to  the  green 
and  white  little  town.  But  presently  this  frail  vision  of  sun- 
shine would  disappear ;  and  the  old  picture  would  be  pre- 
sented of  the  huge  green  waves,  of  the  black  hulls  of  the 
coasters  rolling  heavily,  of  white  foam  and  wind-swept  clouds. 

Then  rain  set  in  steadily  in  the  afternoon,  and  they  were 
forced  to  go  below,  to  seek  refuge  in  books  and  cards.  Oc- 
casionally, there  was  a  little  conversation — not  much  ;  and 
Violet  was  glad  when  it  ceased  ;  for  she  was  beginning  to 
see  that  Mr.  Drummond  wished  very  much  to  be  considered 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  265 

gay  and  cheerful,  whereas  the  quick  eyes  of  the  girl  perceived 
that  he  was  so  only  by  fits  and  starts,  and  obviously  with 
some  effort.  He  had  been  rummaging  among  the  books  left 
by  his  friend  in  the  yatch ;  and  had  lighted  upon  an  old  copy 
of  Herodotus,  which  he  professed  to  treat  as  a  description  of 
Europe  at  the  present  day  written  in  a  form  or  a  parable. 
What  was  this  about  a  marriage-market,  and  the  prettiest 
girls  fetching  the  highest  prices  1  And  how  could  Cyrus  have 
known  any  thing  about  the  Stock  Exchange  when  he  said  : 
"  I  was  never  yet  afraid  of  those  who  in  the  midst  of  their  city 
have  a  place  set  apart,  in  which  they  collect  and  cheat 
one  another  by  false  oaths  ? "  He  was  much  interested  in 
learning  that  the  vessels  which  sailed  down  the. river  to  Baby- 
lon were  circular  ;  and  also  that  "  every  vessel  has  a  live  ass 
on  board,  and  the  larger  ones  more ;  "  but  he  considered 
that  the  writer  had  made  a  slip  here,  as  we  have  not  yet 
adopted  the  circular  form  iron-clad.  And  so  forth.  Some- 
times they  understood  these  occult  references  ;  sometimes 
they  did  not.  Had  Mr.  Miller  been  present,  he  would 
have  turned  away  disgusted,  for  he  never  saw  the  fun  of  any 
one  trying  to  puzzle  you  by  obscure  jokes.  A  joke  was  a 
joke — something  to  laugh  at — not  a  conundrum.  What,  for 
example,  could  Mr.  Drummond  mean  by  saying  to  him  one 
night  at  the  Judaeum  that  he  supposed  the  favorite  wine  at 
the  Club  was  old  Clo'  de  Vougeot  ? 

They  were  more  interested,  however,  in  the  next  book  he 
proceeded  to  skim  ;  which  was  a  statistical  description  of  the 
Hebrides,  accompanying  the  saihng  directions  issued  by  the 
Admiralty.     For  suddenly  he  said, 

"  Sarah,  do  you  think  you  could  leave  London  ?  " 

"  For  good .?  " 

"Yes." 

"  To  live  wdiere  ? " 

"  Somewhere  about  this  coast." 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  think  of  the  winter — the  bleakness,  the 
bitter  cold—" 

"  It  is  exactly  the  absence  of  cold  that  is  the  attraction — 
that  made  me  think  of  living  here  in  reading  this  book.  The 
temperature  of  Lewis  is  the  most  mild  and  equable  of  any 
part  of  the  British  Isles — as  I  read.  Snow  seldom  lies  in 
these  western  regions.  Look  at  the  various  shrubs  and 
plants  that  grow  out-of-doors  here  that  are  only  to  be  found 
in  hot-houses  elsewhere.  They  have  camellias  in  their  gar- 
dens in  Cantyre." 

"What  should  we  do  all  the  winter?"  said  his  sister. 


266  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

'•That  is  the  point,"  said  he,  rather  wistfully.  "Would 
you  care  to  make  the  experiment?  We  might  get  tired  of  it 
— but  not  more  tired  than  I  am  now  in  London." 

"  I  will  go  with  you  wherever  you  please,"  she  said. 

"  How  about  Amy  ?  " 

"  She  can  finish  her  schooling  now  at  home,"  her  mother 
answered. 

Some  silence  ensued.  It  was  with  a  strange  sinking  of  the 
heart  that  Violet  had  heard  this  conversation.  They  had 
never  mentioned  her ;  they  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that 
she  would  leave  them  when  they  returned  to  London  ;  and 
yet,  she  asked  herself,  why  ?  They  could  not  have  known 
what  she  wrote  to  her  father ;  and  she  had  given  them  no  hint 
of  her  intentions.  Up  till  now  they  had  invariably  consulted 
her  about  their  joint  plans,  and  were  almost  too  anxious  to 
accommodate  their  arrangements  to  her  wishes.  Now  she  was 
left  out  altogether ;  and  she  knew  them  too  well  to  suspect 
them  of  any  thing  but  an  innocent  assumption  that  it  was  un- 
necessary to  ask  her. 

Amy,  who  had  been  absent,  came  into  the  saloon  at  this 
moment. 

"  Come  here,  child,  and  tell  us — would  you  like  to  come  and 
live  always  in  the  Highlands  ?  " 

The  girl,  in  the  most  natural  manner  in  the  world,  turned  to 
Violet. 

"  What  do  yoiL  say,  Violet  ?  " 

Happily,  in  the  dusk  the  extreme  embarrassment  of  the 
girl  was  not  visible. 

"  Oh,  I  ?  "  she  said  hurriedly.  "  Your  mamma  understands, 
Amy,  that — that  you  must  leave  me  out — " 

"  You  are  not  going  away  from  us  ?  "  cried  her  old  school- 
companion,  in  dismay. 

"  Not  if  we  can  prevent  you,  "  Mrs.  Warrener  said,  in  her 
kindly  way ;  and  as  she  was  passing  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  girl — "not  if  we  can  prevent  you,  Violet. 
But  there  comes  a  time  when  the  young  birds  will  insist  on 
flying  away  from  the  nest ;  and  though  we  elder  folk  can't  be 
expected  to  like  it,  still  it  is  the  old  story.  Come,  who  v/ill 
adventure  for  a  blow  on  deck  ?  We  must  give  the  saloon  up 
to  Duncan  now." 

The  force  of  the  gale  still  prevented  their  leaving  Tobermory 
that  day ;  it  was  not  until  the  following  afternoon  that  they 
were  allowed  to  start.  By  that  time  a  vague  impression  had 
been  formed  in  Violet's  mind  that  she  had  made  her  last  trip 
in  the  Sea-Pyot. 


CHALLENGED.  267 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

CHALLENGED. 

Other  impressions,  too,  she  was  rapidly  forming,  of  a  much 
graver  character,  and  Hkely  to  lead  to  a  decisive  action.  The 
quick  eyes  of  the  girl  saw  through  this  affectation  of  cheer- 
fulness which  James  Drummond  sought  to  preserve  in  her 
presence.  She  came  to  know,  in  a  vague  way,  and  yet  with 
absolute  certainty,  that  he  was  beset  by  an  anxious  care. 
She  had  expected  that  the  breaking  asunder  of  those  tender 
ties  which  had  been  too  hastily  formed  would  have  released 
him,  at  least,  from  all  anxiety  and  embarrassment,  and  she 
was  glad  to  think  that  that  would  be  the  result,  whatever  the 
cost  might  be  to  her ;  now  she  knew,  with  a  great  sadness, 
that  this  her  best  of  friends,  carried  about  with  him  a  heavy 
heart  underneath  all  that  pretense  of  kindly  merriment. 
She  knew  it.  She  could  read  it  in  his  eyes  when  she  met 
him  unexpectedly.  And  she  could  not  but  imagine  that  the 
cause  of  this  secret  care  was  herself. 

What  could  be  more  simple  than  her  line  of  reasoning  i* — • 
if  that  could  be  called  reasoning  v/hich  was  rather  a  succes- 
sion of  leaps  of  fancies  and  emotions.  He  was  wretched  be- 
cause he  could  not  return  the  affection  she  had  offered  him. 
To  free  him  from  that  hasty  and  mutual  pledge  was  noth- 
ing, so  long  as  she  remained  there  to  recall  it  by  her  presence. 
To  a  person  of  his  imaginative,  sensitive,  and  unselfish  tem- 
perament she  would  appear  as  a  standing  reproach  ;  he  would 
consider  himself — however  unnecessarily — the  cause  of  her 
unhappiness  ;  and  would  be  miserable  himself  in  consequence. 

"  And  this,"  she  thought  to  herself,  with  some  bitterness, 
'■'■  is  what  I  have  brought  to  him ;  this  is  how  I  repay  him  for 
all  his  kindness  to  me." 

And  so  she  became  more  and  more  anxious  to  get  back  to 
Castle  Bandbox.  Perhaps  something  would  occur  then  to  put 
an  end  to  this  unhappy  state  of  affairs ;  though  she  knev/  that 
her  heart-ache  over  the  loss  of  the  one  highest  dream  of  her 
life  was  not  to  be  cured  by  any  change  of  circumstance. 
She  breathed  more  freely,  then,  when  at  last  they  v/eighed 
anchor,  and  stood  out  into  the  Sound  of  Mull. 

The  wind  had  fallen  rapidly,  but  there  was  still  a  heavy 
sea  on,  and  the  afternoon  sunlight  sometimes  shone  stormily 
through  the  floating  masses  of  vapor  that  clung  about  the 
Mull  mountains.     By-and-by  the  wind  had  so  far  abated  that 


268  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

it  was  deemed  permissible  to  hoist  the  topsail ;  and  so  they 
beat  down  the  Sound  at  a  very  fair  rate  of  speed,  hoping  to 
get  home  before  midnight. 

By-and-by  they  came  in  sight  of  a  house,  only  the  tops  of 
the  chimneys  of  which  were  visible  over  a  line  of  dark-green 
trees.     It  looked  a  solitary  place,  on  these  lonely  shores. 

"That  is  Finnorie,"  said  the  skipper.  "There  is  no  song 
the  people  will  like  so  well  as  the  '  Farewell  to  Finnorie  ' — not 
any  song  they  will  like  so  well  as  that  one." 

Violet  did  not  know  this  pathetic  little  piece  ;  but  she  knew 
that  she,  too,  was  bidding  her  farewell  to  Finnorie,  and  to 
more  than  Finnorie.  They  were  all  standing  on  deck  at  this 
time.     She  said, 

"  It  is  a  sad  thing  to  bid  good-bye  to  a  place  you  have 
known." 

"  It  is  a  sadder  thing  to  bid  good-bye  to  illusions,"  said  Mr. 
Drummond,  somewhat  absently;  but  he  had  scarcely  uttered 
the  words  when  he  seemed  to  check  himself.  "  Though  one 
ought  to  be  glad  about  it,"  he  added,  quickly ;  "  the  sooner 
we  get  rid  of  illusions,  the  better.  The  operation  is  not  nice, 
but  the  results  are  wholesome.  Finnorie,  now.  And  that  is 
the  manse  of  Finnorie  .?  1  suppose  the  song  will  last  a  cen- 
tury yet.  Perhaps  it  was  only  an  accident ;  or  was  it  com- 
posed with  a  view  to  posthumous  fame  ?  There  is  no  man 
without  that,  you  may  be  sure  ;  though  the  ordinaiy  person's 
notion  of  posthumous  fame  is  to  live  in  the  kindly  recollection 
of  sons  and  daughters,  and  grand'rchildren,  and  friends — a 
very  good  thing  too,  you  know — it  has  a  hold  on  a  man's 
actions  ;  it  may  make  him  more  generous  than  he  would  other- 
wise be.  What,  now,  is  the  nearest  town  or  village  to  this 
remote  little  manse  1      Loch  Aline,  I  suppose." 

He  stopped  there.  Loch  Aline — that  was  the  place  young 
Miller  was  supposed  to  make  for  when  he  left  them  on  that 
memorable  Sunday.  Some  strange  things  had  occurred  since 
then — to  strange,  perhaps,  to  be  understood  just  yet. 

The  dark  came  on  ;  in  the  dusk  they  could  see  the  livid  blue 
waves  burst  into  flowers  of  white  foam  as  they  went  rushing 
past.     It  was  an  angry  sea,  though  there  was  not  much  wind. 

"  The  sea  is  very  deep  here,  I  suppose,"  said  Violet  to  the 
skipper — she  happened  to  be  standing  alone  with  him — he 
at  the  helm. 

"  Indeed  it  iss  that,"  said  Jimmy. 

*•  If  you  went  overboard,  you  would  drown  soon — perhaps 
you  might  drown  before  coming  up  at  all  ?  " 


CHALLENGED.  •  269 

''  It  would  be  a  ferry  bad  thing  to  try  that,"  said  the  skip- 
per, with  a  shrewd  smile. 

She  had  not  the  least  intention  of  trying  that.  It  was  a 
passing  fancy — nothing  more. 

But  they  ran  a  greater  chance  of  seeing  it  tried  that  night 
than  was  at  all  pleasant.  When  they  were  well  out  of  the 
Sound  and  crossing  to  the  south  of  Lismore  light-house,  they 
were  struck  by  a  sudden  squall.  In  the  midst  of  the  dark- 
ness— the  moon  not  having  risen  as  yet — there  was  something 
startling  in  this  sudden  roar  of  wind  that  caught  the  Sea-Pyot 
and  threw  her  over  almost  on  her  beam-ends.  Instantly  the 
skipper  called  out  to  lower  the  topsail,  and  there  was  a  con- 
fused scuffle  forward.  The  next  moment  there  was  a  loud 
shriek  from  Mrs.  Warrener,  who  had  rushed  up  the  com- 
panion-way to  see  what  all  the  noise  was  about,  and  who 
just  then  caught  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  men  being  whirled 
by  her  in  the  dusk  and  carried  right  up  and  over  the  gig, 
where  he  remained  suspended. in  mid-air,  the  flapping  and 
straining  topsail  tearing  this  way  and  that  over  his  head. 
That  was  Alec.  Somehow  the  sheet  had  got  twisted  round 
his  feet,  and  the  force  of  the  wind  on  the  loose  sail  had  torn 
him  from  his  hold,  though  he  clung  to  the  rope  like  a  rat.  A 
brief,  exciting  period  of  tumult  ensued.  Mr.  Drum.mond 
sprung  to  the  man's  aid,  and  caught  him  by  the  boots ;  an- 
other of  the  sailors  came  running  to  his  assistance ;  and  to- 
gether they  hauled  him  down  on  deck.  But  the  question  was 
how  to  get  those  great  blowing  volumes  of  canvas  secured, 
for  the  gale  was  sweeping  them  this  way  and  that ;  and  again 
one  of  the  sailors  was  knocked  off  his  feet,  and  had  to  cling  to 
the  bulwarks  to  prevent  his  being  driven  into  the  driving  sea. 
This  was  becoming  too  serious.  Violet  was  standing  by — 
frightened,  but  with  all  her  senses  about  her. 

"  Can  you  hold  her  for  a  moment  1 "  the  skipper  called  out. 

The  girl  seized  the  tiller ;  and  he  made  a  dive  at  the  flut- 
tering canvas,  while  the  sailor  got  his  legs  again.  But  what 
was  she  to  do  ?  Right  ahead  of  her  the  great  glow  of  the 
light-house  burned  in  the  night ;  if  she  kept  the  boat  away, 
she  would  expose  her  still  further  to  the  fury  of  the  gale,  and 
make  it  more  difficult  for  the  men  to  shorten  sail ;  if  she  ran 
her  up  to  the  wind,  she  might  get  dangerously  near  the  long, 
black  promontory  of  Lismor.  Captain  Jimmy,  however,  had 
no  intention  of  intrusting  the  safety  of  his  vessel  to  alien 
hands  for  any  thing  but  a  second.  In  another  moment  he 
was  back  at  the  tiller ;  the  men  had  the  foresail  secured  ;  and 
all  the  damage  done  by  the  sudden  squall  was  that  Alec  had 


270  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

lost  his  cap,  and  that  Amy  Warrener,  having  been  thrown 
down  on  the  floor  of  the  saloon,  had  been  overwhelmed  by  a 
shower  of  candle-snuffers,  shilling  novels,  and  biscuits. 

By-and-by,  an  equable  breeze  having  succeeded  this  frag- 
mentary hurricane,  they  found  themselves  lightly  and  pleas- 
antly running  for  home,  while  the  moon  had  come  up  in  the 
south  over  the  black  islands,  so  that  they  should  easily  pick 
their  way  along  the  hilly  road  to  Castle  Bandbox.  It  ought 
to  have  been  a  joyful  return  after  all  this  beautiful  cruise ;  but 
there  was  a  great  silence  on  board,  the  chief  talker  being 
more  than  usually  absent  and  thoughtful. 

"  We  shall  soon  be  ashore  now,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener  to 
Violet,  the  two  of  them  being  in  their  little  cabin,  packing  up 
various  things. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  girl. 

*' I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  the  trip?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  thank  you,"  said  she — the  thoughtless  answer  to 
an  ordinary  question. 

"  And  you  will  enjoy  a  few  days  on  shore  before  we  start 
again." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  shall  be  with  you  next  time,  Mrs.  War- 
rener," said  Violet. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Violet  ?  "  said  her  friend,  ceasing  her 
work  and  standing  up. 

Perhaps  she  would  rather  not  have  answered.  Every  thing 
around  her  seemed  so  wrong  and  miserable  that  talking  about 
it  promised  little.  But,  after  all,  there  was  something  of  the 
wildness  of  despair  in  the  way  in  which  the  girl  threw  out  her 
hands  and  began  to  speak  hurriedly  and  excitedly. 

"  How  can  you  ask  that  ?  Do  you  not  see  what  is  going 
on  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  you  brother  is  miserable  ;  though, 
with  his  constant  kindness,  he  tries  to  conceal  it  t  And  I 
know  I  am  the  cause  of  it ;  and  when  I  know  I  am  the  cause 
of  wretchedness  to  my  friends — I — I  think  it  is  time  I  was 
out  of  the  way." 

"  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  taking  the  girl's  hand,  "  you 
are  too  impulsive — you  will  do  something  wild  some  day. 
Now  will  you  listen  to  reason  ?  A  great  part  of  what  you  say 
is  true.  James  has  not  been  quite  himself  for  a  few  days 
back ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  he  is  a  little  anxious  about  you, 
That  is  natural.  He  has  had  the  greatest  interest  in  you  ever 
since  he  knew  you,  and  he  has  had  a  great  affection  for  you ; 
and  he  is  not  a  man  to  throw  those  things  aside  lightly.  He 
is  not  at  all  a  man  like  that.  When  he  has  got  to  like  any 
one,  there  is  no  use  arguing  with  him ;  he  is  very  steadfast. 


CHALLENGED.  271 

Now,  can  you  wonder  at  his  being  rather  troubled  about  you  ? 
You  yourself  have  not  been  overhappy,  Violet,  of  late," 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  been — I  have  been — overhappy," 
said  the  girl,  with  a  strong  effort  to  restrain  her  tears. 

"  And  can  you  wonder  that  he  has  been  perhaps  rather  too 
anxious  about  you,  considering  how  easily  you  will  get  out  of 
all  this  unfortunate  trouble  !  " 

"Well,"  said  the  girl,  vehemently,  "he  shall  not  be  vexed 
and  troubled  about  me.  I  am  not  going  to  requite  all  his 
great  kindness  to  me  that  way." 

"  You  would  best  remove  his  trouble  by  becoming  happy 
yourself,  Violet,"  her  friend  said,  with  a  smile,  "  and  you  will 
soon  be  able  to  do  that." 

"  Soon  ?  "  said  the  girl  thoughtfully.  "  Shall  I  soon  be  able 
to  remove  this  trouble  from  him  ? " 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  I  suppose  now,"  said  Violet,  speaking  in  a  strangely  slow 
and  measured  way,  "  I  suppose  now,  you  would  say  that  there 
is  nothing — nothing  in  all  the  world  he  would  not  do  to  make 
me  happy  ? " 

"  Nothing !  "  said  James  Drummond's  sister,  honestly,  and 
with  decision.  "  I  believe  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  he 
would  not  do  to  make  you  happy." 

The  girl  thought  for  a  moment ;  and  her  face  was  rather  pale. 

"  And  I,  who  am  only — "  she  managed  to  say  that,  and  no 
more  :  she  drew  a  long  breath,  and  fell  back,  her  hand  uncon- 
sciously catching  at  the  edge  of  the  berth.  Mrs.  Warrener, 
with  a  short,  quick  cry  of  terror,  caught  hold  of  her  before  she 
fell,  and  managed  to  get  her  on  to  a  chair.  After  all  it  was 
only  a  faint — what  more  common  than  that  ?  When  she 
came  to  herself,  she  was  very  much  ashamed,  and  she  won- 
dered how  she  could  have  been  so  stupid ;  but  there  was 
an  unusual  look  about  the  eyes  which  Mrs.  Warrener  could 
not  understand. 

She  professed  to  treat  the  whole  matter  very  lightly,  how- 
ever. 

"  You  are  such  a  wild  and  headstrong  girl,  Violet,  in  those 
fancies  of  yours,  that  I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  you. 
I  wish  you  were  safely  married,  and  had  some  one  to  look  af- 
ter you." 

"  I  think  I  will  go  up  on  deck  now,"  she  said — her  face 
still  somewhat  pale — "it  is  cooler  there." 

Her  friend  accompanied  her.  They  found  the  Sea-Pyot 
now  drawing  near  to  her  moorings,  and  they  recognized  in 
the  moonlight  the  familiar  outlines  of  the  dark  hills  behind 


272  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Castle  Bandbox.  There,  too,  was  the  little  bay,  the  yellow 
sand  showing  a  pale  semicircle  of  light  in  the  shadow,  where 
the  two  girls  used  to  bathe. 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  down  there  now,  Violet,"  said 
Amy,  "and  have  a  bathe  in  the  moonlight  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  catch  you  at  it,  either  of  you  !  "  said  her 
mother.  "  And  yet  I  know  you  are  both  bound  to  be  drowned 
there,  sooner  or  later." 

Out  went  the  rattling  anchor-cable  with  a  roar,  in  the  silence 
of  the  night;  there  was  some  busy  work  with  the  sails;  then 
the  gig  took  the  voyagers  into  the  small  landing  place.  In 
the  moonlight  they  walked  away  up  through  the  quiet  mea.- 
dows  to  the  cottage  on  the  hill.     There  was  little  said. 

Years  upon  years  it  seemed  to  Violet  North  since  she  had 
left  that  small  home  up  there;  for  indeed  the  very  moments 
seemed  years  now,  as  she  felt  her  life  pushing  forward  to  some 
tragic  climax  wdth  swift,  inexorable,  irrevocable  steps.  The 
gathering  volume  of  her  emotions — love,  and  pride,  and  grati- 
tude all  commingled — was  carryirg  her  onward,  whither  she 
as  yet  dared  not  look. 

But  she  wished  to  look  and  to  know,  whatever  it  might  be  ; 
and  when  the  others  had  gone  into  the  house,  and  were  busy 
in  unpacking  and  so  forth,  she  slipped  round  by  the  back, 
and  got  into  the  road  that  led  away  up  among  the  hills.  The 
cool  mountain-air  was  grateful  to  her  hot  forehead  ;  in  the 
silence  she  could  think  of  all  this  that  had  happened  to  her, 
and  was  going  to  happen ;  she  was  glad  to  be  alone.  She 
wandered  on,  not  paying  much  heed  to  the  rocks,  and  heather, 
and  young  plantations,  all  faintly  visible  in  the  moonlight, 
but  vaguely  conscious  of  the  murmur  of  a  stream  in  the  val- 
ley below  her,  that  seemed  to  make  the  silence  of  the  night 
more  intense. 

She  was  iij  no  blind  and  passionate  bewilderment  of  grief ; 
she  was  too  proudly  self-possessed  for  that ;  and  yet  it  seemed 
to  her  that  a  great  sadness  dwelt  over  this  beautiful  night ; 
and  perhaps,  once  or  twice,  she  remembered  that  she  had  no 
mother  to  whom  she  could  go  at  this  terrible  crisis  of  her 
life.  She  reasoned  with  herself  veiy  calmly.  It  was  her 
great  misfortune  to  love  this  man  with  her  whole  heart;  he 
knew  it,  and  his  life  was  made  miserable  by  the  knowledge : 
how  was  all  this  unhappiness  to  be  cured  ?  Her  going  away 
would  do  no  good  ;  she  would  leave  with  him  that  anxious  care 
about  herself,  that  dumb,  unspeakable  regret  that  haunted 
him  and  clouded  over  the  ordinary  bright  and  joyous  spirit. 
And  what  was  she,that  she  should  cause  this  wretchedness  to 


^1 


CHALLENGED.  273 

the  one  among  all  human  beings  whom  she  most  loved  and 
honored  ?  Her  sore  heart-ache,  incurable  as  it  was,  she 
could  have  borne  ;  but  not  the  thought  of  the  pain  she  was 
inflicting  on  this  dearest  of  all  her  friends,  who  sought 
so  anxiously  and  yet  so  vainly  to  conceal  the  wound.  She 
reasoned  calmly  enough,  perhaps ;  but  her  heart  was  begin- 
ning to  beat  fast ;  and  all  the  high,  impulsive,  proud  spirit 
of  the  girl  was  rising  to  the  firm  lips  and  the  pale  face.  She 
stood  still  now  and  listened ;  there  was  no  one  to  interrupt 
her  self-communings.  And  this  was  the  question  she  asked 
herself — not  audibly,  but  so  that  her  beating  heart  could 
hear: 

"  In  the  old  time,  when  you  were  careless  and  happy,  you 
asked  yourself  whether  you  could  die  for  the  man  that  you 
loved ;  and  you  were  very  proud  to  answer  Yes.  You  were 
very  sure  then  you  could  do  it.  And  now,  if  the  same  ques- 
tion is  asked,  what  will  you  say  1  Will  you  meanly  retreat 
from  it  ?  If  nothing  will  do  but  getting  out  of  the  world  alto- 
gether— so  that  the  old  glad  light  will  come  back  to  his  eyes 
in  time,  after  he  has  forgotten  all  about  you — can  you  show 
to  yourself  what  your  love  is  worth  by  doing  that  ? " 

She  was  not  so  calm  now.  The  beautiful  dark  eyes  were 
full  of  a  strange  agony ;  she  was  breathing  quickly ;  her  face 
was  paler  than  the  moonlight  itself. 

That  was  the  question  she  asked  herself ;  what  was  the 
answer  ?  No  man,  woman,  or  set  of  circumstances  ever  con- 
fronted this  girl  with  a  challenge,  and  found  her  turn  aside 
from  it :  that  was  not  possible  to  her.  The  answer  to  the 
question  was  written  in  the  firm  lips  and  the  wild,  white 
face. 

After  all,  what  was  this  sacrifice  that  was  demanded  of  her  1 
The  book  of  life,  so  far  as  she  could  read  it  in  her  bewilder- 
ment and  despair,  was  to  her  only  a  record  of  disappointment 
on  disappointment,  of  regret,  and  lamentation,  and  grief. 
She  had  had  no  kindly-cared-for  youth ;  and  now  her  woman- 
hood, as  she  was  about  to  enter  upon  it,  and  as  the  fascina- 
tion of  it  glimj-nered  before  her  like  a  beautiful  vision,  had 
been  suddenly  shut  off  in  darkness,  and  she  was  left  with 
only  the  bitter  memory  of  what  might  have  been. 

She  heard  steps  behind  her,  and  turned  quickly.  She 
found  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  some  light  shawl  thrown  round 
her  head,  coming  toward  her. 

"Violet,  what  do  you  mean  by  runing  away  like  this?  I 
felt  sure  you  had  gone  up  among  the  hills  by  yourself." 

The  reply  was  a  strange  one.  The  girl  took  her  friend's 
18 


274  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

head  between  her  hands  and  kissed  her  gently,  and  looked 
wistfully  and  earnestly  into  her  eyes. 

"  If  I  have  annoyed  you  at  any  time,"  she  said,  "  and  if  you 
think  of  it  afterward,  you  will  believe  that  I  never  did  mean 
it,  and  that  I  was  very  sorry.  You  will  promise  me  that ;  and 
if  I  have  done  harm  to  any  one  in  your  house,  you  will  ask 
them  to  forgive  me,  and  forget  it  when  they  can." 

The  gentle  little  woman  burst  into  tears. 

"  O,  Violet,  what  do  you  mean  ? "  she  cried,  with  a  strange 
apprehension  in  her  breast.  "Why  are  you  crying?  what 
is  the  matter  with  you,  that  you  are  so  pale  ?  " 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  the  girl.  "  We  will  go  back  to  the 
house." 

They  walked  down  the  road  in  the  moonlight,  both  silent ; 
for  Mrs.  Warrener  was  beset  by  vague  fears,  and  she  was 
afraid  to  question  the  girl  too  closely  just  then.  When  they 
had  entered  the  house,  Violet  escaped  to  her  own  room,  for 
it  was  now  late.  She  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  window — look- 
ing out  on  the  black  hills,  and  on  the  trees,  and  on  the  small 
patches  of  oats,  that  the  moonlight  made  of  a  silvery  gray — 
and  she  was  holding  her  hand  tightly  over  her  heart. 

"  Don't  break  yet  " — this  is  what  she  would  have  said,  had 
her  wild,  despairing  fancies  been  translated  into  words — 
"  don't  break  just  yet,  until  I  have  made  my  friends  happy. 
Then  you  can  do  with  me — what  you  like  ! " 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  FAREWELL  !    FAREWELL  !  " 

Perhaps  she  did  not  quite  know  how  it  had  all  come  about ; 
how,  in  the  midst  of  the  trivialities  of  ordinary  life  and  the  dis- 
tractions of  a  holiday  trip,  this  tragic  doom  had  overtaken  her 
with  swift,  inevitable  strides  ;  but,  captive  as  she  was,  and  not 
a  little  bewildered  by  the  sore  aching  of  the  heart,  she  nerved 
herself  at  this  moment  to  act  and  think  with  promptitude 
and  decision.  And,  indeed,  although  there  was  much  of  im- 
pulsive romanticism  in  the  girl,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  plain 
common  sense  too ;  and  she  had  a  keen  sense  of  honor.  When, 
in  that  breathless,  wild  way,  she  determined  to  free  those  who 
were  dearest  to  her — and  especially  him  whom  she  regarded 
with  all  the  generous,  self-sacrificing  ardor  of  a  girl's  first 
love — ^from  the  pain  and  unrest  of  which  she  knew  she  was 


FAREWELL!   FAREWELL!  275 

the  cause,  the  idea  of  suicide  did  not  even  occur  to  her.  Her 
quick  pride  would  have  instantly  rejected  what  slje  held  to  be 
mean  and  cowardly.  But  how  otherwise  was  she  to  accom- 
plish that  which  she  had  now  set  her  heart  upon  ? 

One  evening,  in  former  and  happier  days,  James  Drummond 
had  amused  his  small  domestic  circle  with  a  description  of  a 
strange  land.  It  was  a  land  distant  and  unnamed,  far  across 
the  seas,  to  which  had  fled  all  those  people  who  have  myste- 
riously disappeared  from  among  us — absconding  merchants 
who  have  left  their  coats  and  hats  ©n  the  bank  of  a  river ; 
young  men  entangled  in  a  love-affair  who  have  gone  up  a 
Welsh  mountain  and  apparently  never  come  down  again; 
people  supposed  to  have  perished  by  shipwreck ;  married  sol- 
diers who  have  taken  the  opportunity  of  a  great  battle  to  es- 
cape from  conjugal  squabbles;  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 
In  his  idle,  fanciful,  desultory  way,  Mr.  Drummond  went  on 
to  describe  this  mysterious  land,  this  earthly  paradise,  where 
the  debtor  walked  about  free  from  his  debts ;  where  the  young 
man  no  longer  feared  an  action  for  breach  of  promise ;  where 
the  "  missing"  soldier  found  peace  at  last.  It  was  but  a  pass- 
ing plaything ;  probably  next  day  he  could  not  have  told  that  he 
had  ever  mentioned  such  a  subject.  But  there  was  one  pres- 
ent on  that  evening  who  put  a  higher  value  on  Mr.  Drum- 
mond's  fancies  and  speculations  than  he  did  himself.  Idle 
words  sunk  deep  into  her  heart :  for  they  were  the  utterance 
of  the  man  she  loved. 

And  now  it  occurred  to  Violet  North  that  she  could  do  no 
better  than  go  away  to  this  unknown  land  across  the  seas  ; 
and  when  her  friends  had  got  over  the  temporary  pain  of  be- 
lieving her  to  have  been  drowned,  they  would  soon  forget ; 
and  he  whom  she  most  considered  would  regain  that  old  bright 
cheerfulness  of  disposition  that  she  remembered  in  the  by- 
gone time.  What  could  be  more  simple  ?  And  yet  she  did 
not  sleep  much  that  night. 

Early  in  the  morning  she  arose,  and  dressed  herself  noise- 
lessly. For  a  brief  instant  she  had  gone  to  the  window,  and 
she  shuddered  as  she  looked  out  on  the  gloom  of  the  sleeping 
world.  For  the  sea  lay  like  a  lake  of  ink  all  around  the  dark- 
green  shores ;  and  the  mountains  of  Mull  were  of  a  sombre 
purple  akin  to  a  black  ;  and  the  distant  sky  was  dark  with 
low  and  threatening  swathes  of  cloud.  Overhead,  it  is  true, 
the  heavy  grays  of  the  dawn  were  mottled  here  and  there  with 
tinges  of  crimson ;  but  it  was  an  angry  and  ominous  conjunc- 
tion, and  she  shivered  as  she  turned  away. 

She  stole  quietly  into  the  small  chamber  where  Amy  War- 


276  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

rener  lay  asleep,  and  she  but  half  awoke  her  girl-companion 
and  friend. 

"  Are  you  going  for  a  bath,  Violet  ?  "  said  she,  noticing  the 
bag  that  the  other  had  in  her  hand. 

"  I  came  to  say  you  had  better  not  come  with  me  this  morn- 
ing, Amy,"  said  she,  in  a  calm  voice.  "  It  is  gloomy  and  cold  ; 
and  I  think  it  will  rain." 

"  Then  why  do  you  go  ? " 

"  I  must  go,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  have  been  out  of  sorts 
lately  ;  I  want  something  to  waken  me  up.  Now  go  to  sleep, 
Amy." 

For  a  second  time  she  stood  irresolute.  She  would  have 
given  worlds  to  have  touched  her  friend's  hand,  to  have  kissed 
her,  and  said  good-bye,  as  a  token  of  her  farewell  to  all 
the  household ;  but  she  did  not  dare  to  do  that.  She  closed 
the  door  gently  behind  her  and  went  down-stairs.  In  another 
minute  she  was  outside. 

And  now,  far  more  awful  than  the  gloom  that  lay  over  land 
and  sea — over  the  dark  mountains,  and  the  woods,  and  the 
sullen  waters  that  lapped  along  the  desolate  shore — was  the 
silence  of  this  dead  world.  Not  a  bird  seemed  to  be  stirring 
yet.  The  silence  was  absolute  but  for  the  whispering  of  the 
cold  gray  leaves  of  some  willow-bushes  that  the  wind  of  the 
morning  stirred. 

With  her  heart  beating  quick,  she  walked  down  the  slope 
and  along  the  valley  toward  the  sea.  She  had  no  sense  of  injury 
to  sustain  her  in  what  she  was  doing.  If  she  had  suffered 
any  wrong  at  the  hands  of  those  whom  she  was  leaving  for- 
ever, her  pride  would  have  come  to  the  rescue.  Wrong  ?  She 
turned  at  the  foot  of  the  valley,  and  looked  back  to  the  small 
white  cottage  on  the  hill  that  held  all  that  she  cared  for  upon 
earth ;  but  her  eyes  could  not  see  much,  for  she  was  crying 
bitterh^  And  all  that  was  in  her  heart  then  was  a  prayer  that 
the  light  of  Heaven  might  descend  and  rest  upon  that  house- 
hold ;  and  that  her  well-beloved  might  never  know  with  what 
an  agony  of  grief  she  was  now  bidding  him  and  his  a  last  good- 
bye. 

Then  she  turned  again,  and  made  her  way  toward  the  sea. 
And,  as  she  was  but  dimly  aware — for  her  mind  was  full  of 
desolation — across  the  gloomy  picture  of  the  dawn  the  steal- 
thy fingers  of  the  rain  began  to  creep,  coldly  and  silently  re- 
moving mountain  after  mountain,  and  leaving  in  their  place 
a  cloud  of  dismal  grey.  A  chilling  wind  came  blowing  in 
from  the  sea ;  a  cold,  stinging  drop  or  two  of  rajn  touched 
her  face ;  the  islands  out  there  began  to  grow  misty  and  re- 


J^ 


FAREWELL!  FAREWELL!  277 

mote ;  and  then  a  slow  fine  drizzle  began  to  make  the  ferns 
by  the  roadside  droop,  and  the  grass  and  weeds  wetter  than 
ever.  She  walked  on  blindly ;  perhaps  it  was  the  cold  that 
made  her  seem  to  shiver  from  time  to  time. 

At  length  she  got  down  to  a  part  of  the  coast  where  a  bold 
and  rocky  promontor}^,  partly  covered  by  trees,  went  out  into 
the  sea,  sheltering  from  the  violence  of  the  waves  a  small  bay 
of  fine  sand.  At  the  corner,  where  the  sand  met  the  black  rocks, 
stood  a  small  bathing-machine.  There  was  not  a  human  be- 
ing to  be  descried  anywhere  at  this  early  hour  in  the  morning. 

She  went  along  the  seaward  edge  of  the  rocks,  and  sat  down, 
completely  hidden  from  view  by  the  trees.  She  took  oif  her  hat, 
and  put  on  instead  a  bonnet  to  which  was  attached  a  thick 
veil.     Then  she  sat  motionless,  thinking. 

Of  what  did  she  think  then — if  that  could  be  called  think- 
ing that  was  but  a  wild,  bewildered  groping  in  the  blackness 
of  despair  ?  Of  the  days  long  ago,  when  the  wild  school-girl 
was  full  of  an  audacious  life  and  gayety?  or  of  the  quiet  and 
pleasant  evenings  that  she  used  to  spend  in  that  simple,  beauti- 
ful, unworldly  household,  where  all  good  and  noble  things  were 
reverenced,  and  the  mean  and  base  had  no  existence  ?  or  of 
the  dawning  of  that  wonderful  hope  that  for  a  brief  time  had 
added  a  strange  glow  and  color  to  her  life  ?  If  she  saw  these 
beautiful  pictures,  it  was  as  through  a  darkened  glass.  Her 
mind  was  overshadowed.  She  was  almost  as  one  that  was 
dead. 

Some  mechanical  instinct  made  her  think  of  the  tinie. 
She  looked  at  her  watch.  The  great  steamer,  coming  down 
from  the  Hebrides,  and  bound  for  Glasgow  byway  of  the  Mull, 
was  due  in  an  hour ;  and  she  had  nearly  three  miles  to  walk 
to  the  pier.     She  rose. 

Her  funeral  service  was  simple.  She  merely  placed  the 
small  bag  she  carried  on  the  rocks,  close  to  the  edge,  so  that 
they  might  imagine  she  dropped  it  when  she  slipped  and  fell 
over,  and  then  she  threw  her  hat  into  the  sea.  She  watched 
it  float ;  the  dark  current  was  running  strong ;  would  they  seek 
her  body  far  over  there  by  the  gloomy  shores  of  Linsmore  and 
Morven  ? 

She  pulled  the  thick  veil  down  over  her  face  ;  and  then  she 
set  out  to  walk  to  the  quay — in  the  slow  drizzle  of  the  rain. 
She  had  now  assumed  a  more  courageous  gait ;  she  was  resolved 
to  bear  herself  bravely,  now  that  she  had  to  face  the  world  for 
herself;  in  a  pathetic,  bewildered  way,  she  even  tried  to  look 
at  the  merry  side  of  the  whole  business,  and  wondered  what 
the  people  in  the  steamer  would  say  if  they  knew  they  had  a 


278  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

dead  woman  on  board.  To  aid  this  enforcement  of  courage, 
she  tried  to  hum  a  cheerful  air ;  but  she  quite  broke  down  in 
that ;  for  right  in  the  middle  of  it  she  happened  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  that  white  cottage,  far  up  the  valley,  in  the  midst 
of  the  grays  and  greens  of  the  hills,  and  the  merry  song  ended 
in  a  choking  sensation  of  the  throat.  She  turned  away  her 
head,  and  would  look  no  more  in  that  direction. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  bustle  about  the  pier,  for  the  big 
steamer  from  the  North  was  just  coming  in,  and  there  were 
cattle  and  goods  to  be  landed.  In  the  general  confusion  she 
would  easily  have  escaped  recognition,  even  if  any  of  the  peo- 
ple about  had  happened  to  know  her ;  but  in  any  case  she  only- 
remained  a  minute  or  two  on  the  quay,  for  as  soon  as  the  Clans- 
man came  in  she  went  on  board  and  got  below,  where  she  re- 
mained during  the  whole  time  the  steamer  was  unloading  and 
loading  again.  She  was  quite  alone  in  the  large  cabin;  few 
people  coming  from  the  North  care  to  go  round  the  Mull  of 
Cantyre  when  they  have  ^the  option  of  cutting  through  the  Cri- 
nan  Canal.  She  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  cabin,  in  the  twilight, 
closely  veiled ;  and  it  was  not  until  she  felt  the  vessel  begin 
to  throb  with  the  action  of  the  screw  that  she  ventured  up  on 
deck.     The  Clansman  was  just  putting  off  from  the  pier. 

Was  there  not  time  to  undo  what  she  had  done  ?  As  the 
steamer  backed,  she  saw  that  she  could  easily  spring  on  to  the 
edge  of  the  quay ;  and  for  a  second  she  found  herself  almost 
driven  to  this  leap,  the  despair  of  her  isolation  getting  the  mas- 
tery over  her.  But  she  held  on  firmly  to  an  iron  railing  beside 
her.  In  another  second  the  Clarisman  had  got  clear  away 
from  the  pier,  and  Vv^as  churning  her  way  out  to  sea. 

That  dreadful  morning  seemed  to  consist  of  years.  Was 
it  not  years  since — in  the  half-forgotten  long-ago — that  she  had 
looked  up  with  a  vague  terror  to  the  mottled  gray  and  crimson 
of  the  sky,  and  shuddered  at  the  awful  silence  of  the  world } 
How  long  ago  was  it  she  had  sat  on  the  rocks,  and  pictured  to 
herself  her  friends  coming  down  to  seek  for  her,  and  finding 
her  bag  close  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  where,  as  they  would 
imagine,  she  had  dropped  it  as  she  stumbled  and  fell  into  the 
depths  below  ?  Then  the  sad,  despairing  walk  along  the  wet 
ways,  in  the  silence  of  the  morning.  Now  she  was  surrounded 
by  the  noise  of  many  people  talking  in  a  strange  tongue  ;  and 
it  all  seemed  a  wild  dream  to  her.  She  was  not  crying  now. 
She  was  thinking,  in  a  dull  and  confused  way,  of  all  manner 
of  ordinary  things — of  the  indifference  of  these  poor  High- 
land people  to  the  rain ;  of  the  cattle  on  board ;  of  the  dis- 
comfort of  traveling  at  night  by  rail  from  Greenock  to  Lon- 


FAREWELL'  FAREWELL!  279 

don  ;  of  the  two  five-pound  notes  and  the  two  sovereigns  she 
had  in  her  purse.  The  people  about  her  were  very  busy 
with  their  own  affairs,  or  they  might  have  wondered  why  this 
tall  girl,  wrapped  up  in  her  water-proof  and  veil,  stood  there 
as  motionless  as  a  statue,  gazing  blankly  at  the  coast  they 
were  leaving  behind. 

But  by-and-by  she  became  strangely  agitated ;  for  as  the 
steamer  got  farther  away  from  the  land,  she  came  in  view  of 
the  valley  at  the  head  of  which  stood  Castle  Bandbox  ;  and 
she  ought  to  have  been  able  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  white  cot- 
tage on  the  hill,  but  she  could  not,  for  it  was  hidden  behind 
the  gray  mists  of  the  rain.  And  then  it  seemed  to  her  that 
now  at  last  her  only  friends  were  lost  to  her  for  ever  and  ever ; 
and  still  her  heart  strings  clung  to  that  wild  shore  and  the 
misty  valley  until  she  thought  they  would  break.  The  bitter 
agony  of  parting  from  all  that  she  cared  to  know  and  see 
seemed  worse  to  her  than  death  itself ;  she  would  have  wel- 
comed with  a  glad  joy  a  real  death  rather  than  the  living  death 
which  now  lay  before  her  in  her  way  through  the  world. 

"  Far  away — in  the  beautiful  meadows — is  the  house  of  my 
home.  Many  a  time  I  went  out  from  it  into  the  valley — O 
you  beautiful  valley  !  I  greet  you  a  thousands  times.  Fare- 
well, farewell ! " 

The  echoes  came  to  her  from  out  of  the  half-forgotten  past ; 
they  spoke  of  a  time  when  such  temporary  partings  were  the 
sweetest  pleasure  compared  to  the  bitterness  she  was  now  en- 
during. How  yearningly  the  girl's  heart  clung  to  that  fast- 
receding  land  !  The  world  around  her  seemed  to  know  she 
was  leaving  home,  friends,  and  the  one  beautiful,  glad  hope 
that  for  a  time  had  brightened  her  life ;  and  that  she  was 
leaving  them  forever.  Far  over  there,  the  long  lines  of  hills 
seemed  themselves  clouded  over  with  the  darkness  of  grief ; 
and  the  gray  mists  were  weeping,  remote  and  in  silence  ;  and 
the  very  winds  of  heaven,  blowing  coldly  about  her,  had  but 
that  one  sad  refrain — "  Farewell,  Farewell !  "  Then  the  coast 
disappeared  altogether  behind  the  mists  of  the  rain  ;  and  she 
turned  to  the  restless  gray-green  sea  that  was  rushing  by — the 
sea  that  in  a  short  while  her  friends  would  be  regarding  as 
her  nameless  grave  ;  and  in  her  heart  she  prayed  to  God 
that  as  soon  as  may  be  the  burden  of  life  might  be  taken 
from  hen 


2So  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

IN    LONDON. 

Damp  and  windy  as  was  Euston  Station  on  this  wet  and 
mild  September  morning,  it  was  nevertheless  a  welcome  relief 
from  the  close  carriage  in  which  she  had  slept  but  little  dur- 
ing the  night.  She  was  glad  to  breathe  the  fresher  air.  She 
looked  around  with  some  surprise — for  town  sights  were  as 
yet  unfamiliar  to  her — as  she  walked  along  toward  the  gate. 

"  Cab,  miss  ?  " 

She  wondered  what  a  dead  woman  could  want  with  a  cab, 
and  passed  on. 

But  she  was  not  blindly  and  heedlessly  walking  alone  in 
the  world  of  London.  All  the  long  night  she  had  pondered 
over  what  she  should  do,  and  her  high  courage  stood  her  in 
good  stead.  So  far  as  might  be,  she  had  laid  down  shrewd, 
practical  plans.  She  knew  very  well,  for  example,  that  with 
£()  los.  in  her  pocket  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  set  out  for 
that  distant  trans-atlantic  region,  where  the  mysteriously  dead 
come  to  life  again  :  she  would  have  to  remain  in  London,  and 
support  herself,  and  save  money  for  the  long  voyage.  Before 
getting  a  situation,  she  would  have  to  get  lodgings ;  before 
looking  about  for  proper  lodgings,  she  would  have  to  go  to  a 
hotel ;  before  going  to  a  hotel,  she  would  have  to  provide 
herself  with  some  luggage,  for  the  sake  of  appearances.  It 
was  well  that  she  had  all  these  things  to  think  about  just  at 
this  time. 

A  curious  fancy  took  possession  of  her  that  she  would  like 
to  have  a  look  at  her  former  home ;  and  there  was  little  risk 
in  doing  so,  for  she  was  deeply  veiled ;  and  besides,  it  was 
the  family  breakfast  hour. 

"  They  don't  know  yet  I  am  dead,"  she  said  to  herself,  "or 
I  might  appear  at  the  window  and  give  Anatolia  a  fright." 

She  was  turning  the  corner  of  the  railings,  when  she  was 
nearly  knocked  down  by  a  tall,  white-bearded  man  who  was 
pushing  by  in  a  great  hurry.  He  just  avoided  a  collision ; 
muttered,  "  I  beg  your  pardon — I  beg  your  pardon,"  and 
hastened  on  without  noticing  her. 

But  she  had  caught  one  swift  glimpse  of  this  m.an's  face, 
and  that  was  full  of  anxious  pain. 

She  looked  after  him  with  a  secret  fear.  Had  he  just  got 
a  telegram,  then  ?  Was  he  about  to  start  for  Scotland  by  the 
day  mail .'      Or  had  he  just  got  a  letter  describing  the  una- 


IN  LONDON.  2S1 

vailing  search  along  the  shore  for  the  body  of  his  daughter, 
and  was  he  about  to  telegraph  a  reply?  The  bewilderment 
of  trouble  in  her  father's  face  touched  her  deeply,  and  she 
would  fain  have  rushed  after  him,  and  confessed ;  but  she 
hardened  herself  and  remained  firm. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  poor  papa,"  she  was  thinking  to  her- 
self, as  she  stood  and  looked  after  the  retreating  figure, 
"  and  for  them,  too ;  for  you  will  all  be  pained  for  a  little 
while.  But  in  the  end  it  will  be  better.  In  a  year  or  two 
you  will  all  be  happier,  and  by  that  time  you  will  have  for- 
gotten all  that  was  bad  about  me  ;  and  if  you  think  of  me  at 
all,  it  will  be  a  kindly  sort  of  thinking." 

So  she  walked  on,  assuring  herself  she  had  done  right; 
though  her  mind  was  still  filled  by  the  picture  of  that  man 
hurrying  by  with  a  wild  grief  in  his  face. 

In  Tottenham  Court  Road  she  purchased  a  large  and  heavy 
portmanteau,  which  further  crippled  her  finances,  but  she 
reasoned  with  herself  that  a  light  portmanteau  would  provoke 
suspicion  at  the  hotel ;  while,  when  she  set  sail  for  the  mys- 
terious region,  a  formidable  portmanteau  such  as  she  had 
bought  v/ould  come  in  handy.  Having  thus  equipped  herself 
with  luggage,  she  got  a  four-wheeled  cab,  and  bid  the  driver 
drive  to  a  certain  small  and  semi-private  hotel  in  Great  Port- 
land Street.  She  had  been  there  once  with  her  father  to 
visit  some  Canadian  friends,  and  had  been  struck  by  the 
smiling  and  roseate  face  of  the  landlady. 

The  buxom  dame,  with  her  ruddy  cheeks  and  her  black 
curls,  was  standing  in  the  hall  when  she  entered.  There  was 
no  great  embarrassment  about  the  tall  and  shapely  young 
lady,  v/ho  explained  that  she  wanted  a  room  for  two  or  three 
days,  until  she  could  provide  herself  with  lodgings ;  but  for  a 
moment  she  quailed,  for  the  landlady  regarded  her  Vvith  a 
puzzled  expression,  as  if  she  half  remembered  the  face.  How- 
ever, as  Violet  instantaneously  recollected,  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly know  her  name ;  and  indeed  the  landlady  dismissed  the 
effort  at  recognition,  and  bid  the  hall-porter  carry  thfe  young 
lady's  luggage  up  to  a  particular  room.  The  young  lady 
asked  if  she  might  have  some  tea  and  dry  toast  sent  up  to 
her;  experiences  in  Canada  perhaps  accounting  for  the  busi- 
ness-like air  which  she  wore. 

When  she  was  quite  alone  she  sat  down  and  began  to  think. 
It  was  very  terrible,  this  sensation  of  being  in  a  strange 
house,  among  strange  people,  all  by  herself.  If  she  felt  like 
this  already,  how  would  she  be  able  to  reach  that  distant  coun- 


282  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

try  in  which  she  was  to  remain  hidden  for  the  rest  of  her  Ufe  ? 
Or  was  this  only  the  first  plunge  tliat  affected  lier  so  ? 

A  tap  at  the:  door  made  her  heart  jump  ;  it  was  only  a  maid- 
servant with  a  small  tray.  Before  she  went  again,  the  girl 
said,  with  a  sudden  impulse, 

"  Would  you  ask  the  landlady  if  she  would  kindly  step  up 
for  a  moment  ? " 

The  roseate  face  was  a  kindly  face ;  the  fat  woman  had  re- 
garded this  girl  with  a  friendly  look  of  interest.  And  now 
— with  a  womanly  seeking  for  sympath)^ — she  would  tell  all 
of  her  story  that  needed  to  be  told ;  and  she  would  ask  for 
advice,  which  she  knew  that  comfortable-looking  dame  would 
not  refuse. 

Mrs.  Roberts  came  up-stairs,  a  little  out  of  breath.  She 
begged  to  be  excused  for  taking  a  chair  when  she  entered  the 
room ;  Violet  besought  her  to  remain  seated,  as  she  wished  to 
say  something  to  her.  Mrs.  Roberts's  round  black  eyes 
seemed  to  grow  bigger  and  blacker  with  surprise  when  she 
heard  how  this  beautiful  young  lady,  with  her  refined  ways, 
and  her  distinguished  carriage,  and  fashionable  traveling- 
dress,  was  suddenly  compelled  to  earn  her  own  living,  and 
was  anxious  to  obtain  any  employment  by  which  she  could 
fairly  support  herself.  Mrs.  Roberts,  indeed,  was  a  little 
puzzled.  She  could  not  get  over  the  impression  that  this 
young  lady  was  a  very  superior  person :  and  that  to  talk  of 
her  becoming  a  governess,  or  a  lady's  maid,  or  any  thing  of 
that  sort,  was,  on  the  face  of  it,  ludicrous.  But  v\'hen  Miss 
Violet,  presuming  on  the  evident  interest  which  the  good 
woman  showed,  asked  her  if  she  had  any  notion  what  wages 
girls  in  the  telegraph-ofhce  got,  then  Mrs.  Roberts  began  to 
believe  that  she  was  in  earnest,  and  that  one  of  those  ca- 
tastrophes which  too  frequently  bring  down  superior  persons 
to  the  most  absolute  poverty  had  thrown  this  distinguished- 
looking  young  lady  in  a  measure  under  her  protection.  The 
curious  thing  was  that  she,  as  a  land-lady,  and  having  the 
instincts  and  experiences  of  a  land-lady,  never  suspected 
Miss  Violet  North  of  being  a  professional  swindler.  AH  the 
outward  circumstances  of  the  case  suggested  that  conclusion, 
and  it  may  be  said  that  of  the  various  employments  men- 
tioned by  Miss  North  there  was  none  for  which  nature  had 
so  thoroughly  fitted  her  as  that  of  piwfessional  swindling;  for 
she  had  a  face  and  manner  that  instantly  inspired  confidence. 
This  Mrs.  Roberts,  for  example,  looked  at  the  girl's  eyes, 
and  heard  her  voice ;  and  she  was  satisfied.  She  would 
have  left  her  in  charge  of  all  the  silver  in  the  house. 


IN  LONDON.  283 

Perhaps  it  may  be  said  that  if  she  had  possessed  the  inter- 
nal nature  of  a  professional  swindler,  she  would  have  lost  this 
candor,  and  sweetness,  and  innocence  which  externally  in- 
spired confidence.  But  ihis  is  a  dangerous  theory.  I  remem- 
ber Mr.  Drummond  giving  us  a  long  lecture,  one  evening  after 
dinner,  when  the  ladies  had  left,  about  a  photograph  some  one 
showed  him  of  a  notorious  woman  who  was  then  being  talked 
of  all  over  England.  The  puzzle  was  how  this  woman  had  the 
simple  innocence  and  sweetness  of  a  girl  of  sixteen  written  in 
every  lineament  of  her  face,  and  shining  in  the  amiability  of 
her  eyes.  He  declared  it  was  no  puzzle  at  all.  He  insisted 
that  there  were  human  beings  so  utterly  lacking  the  moral 
sense  that  in  the  worst  deeps  of  wickedness  they  preserved  the 
innocence  of  ignorance.  They  were  not  depraved  ;  they  never 
had  any  thing  to  deprave.  This  girl,  he  declared,  as  she  sat 
down  before  the  photographer,  knowing  that  her  portrait 
would  be  exhibited  in  every  stationer's  window,  had  no  more 
sense  of  shame  than  a  beast  of  the  field.  Look  at  the  sparrow, 
said  he,  that  does  not  think  it  mean  or  contemptible  to  filch 
from  another  sparrow  a  piece  of  bread  lawfully  the  property  of 
the  latter ;  are  there  not  women  who  have  as  simple  a  dis- 
regard for  the  other  commandments  as  the  sparrow  has  for  the 
eighth  ?  But  this  is  getting  too  far  afield  ;  and  we  must  return 
to  the  buxom  landlady  and  her  n^^^ protegee. 

"Well,  Miss " 

"  Main,"  said  Violet,  at  a  venture. 

"  Miss  Main,  if  you  really  do  want  some^mployment  of  that 
kind,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  what  I  can  to  help  you  ;  though  it 
is  not  easy  nowadays,  for  all  the  young  girls  are  too  proud  to 
become  housemaids ;  they  must  educate  themselves,  and  give 
themselves  airs,  and  assistants,  and  clerks,  and  show-women 
in  shops.  My  brother-in-law  advertised  not  long  ago  for  a 
young  lady —  By-the-way,  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  knew  of 
some  thing  that  would  suit  you.  He  is  a  photographer  in  Re- 
gent Street.  If  you  like,  I  will  walk  down  with  you  to  his  place 
by-and-by,  when  I  have  got  affairs  in  order." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  you,"  said  the  girl ;  and,  in- 
deed, this  sudden  stumbling  on  a  good-natured  woman  made 
the  world  seem  better  and  brighter.  "  Whenever  you  have  a 
few  minutes  to  spare,  I  shall  be  ready.  In  the  mean  time  I 
think  I  will  lie  down,  for  I  am  rather  tired  :  I  have  been  travel 
ing  all  night." 

Mrs.  Roberts  left  with  a  certain  pleased  sense  of  dignity  and 
consequence.  She  was  aiding,  counseling,  patronizing  one 
who  was  distinctly  a  superior  person  ;  for  if  this  girl  had  been 


234  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

of  any  common  kind,  would  she  not  have  eagerly  refused  to 
cause  so  much  trouble  ?  Whereas,  the  young  lady  accepted 
her  good  offices,  with  evident  gratitude,  it  is  true,  but  still  with 
a  measure  of  calmness  which  showed  she  had  been  in  habit 
of  receiving  attention.  What  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  have  dark 
and  tender  eyes,  a  proud,  sweet  mouth,  and  the  ingenuous 
blush  and  smile  of  twenty !  If  Violet  North  had  been  less 
bountifully  gifted  by  nature,  she  might  have  found  it  less  easy 
to  interest  people  in  her  favor  on  the  very  first  pay  of  her 
entrance  into  London. 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  before  these  two  left  the  hotel, 
and  by  this  time  the  streets  had  been  completely  dried  up  by 
the  bright  September  sunshine.  After  the  wet  morning, 
crowds  cf  mothers  and  daughters  had  come  out  to  do  their 
shopping;  Oxford  Street  and  Regent  Street  were  full  of 
animation.  And  Mrs  Roberts  had  attired  herself  somewhat 
splendidly ;  and  was  pleased  to  walk  with  this  distinguished- 
looking  young  lady ;  and  said  to  her,  with  a  smile. 

"  Do  you  know.  Miss  Main,  people  would  not  imagine  from 
your  dress  that  you  were  inquiring  for  a  situation  where  you 
will  probably  not  get  more  than  fourteen  shillings  a  week  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  get  work,  I  will  get  a  dress  to  suit  it,"  said 
the  girl,  meekh^ 

She  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  glare  of  Regent  Street : 
there  was  a  terrible  risk  of  her  running  against  some  of  her 
father's  friends.  She  followed  the  stout  landlady  up  the 
gloomy  little  staircase.  Presently  they  stood  in  a  spacious 
chamber  filled  with  colored  portraits  of  all  sizes ;  and  here 
they  found  one  or  two  people  meekly  awaiting  their  fate, 
while  some  one  was  being  operated  on  in  the  surgery  above. 

They  had  to  wait  a  considerable  time,  for  Mr.  Roberts  was 
a  busy  man.  When  at  last  he  did  appear — a  tall,  grave  per- 
son, with  an  untidy  dress  aud  unkempt  hair,  his  hands  black 
with  nitrate  of  silver — he  seemed  rather  to  resent  the  intru- 
sion of  his  roseate  sister-in-law.     But  he  glanced  at  Violet. 

"  I  have  no  vacancy,"  said  he,  in  a  quick,  raucous  voice. 
*'  I  fancy  Dowse  has — my  next-door  neighbor — the  furniture 
people.  I  think  he  wants  a  young  woman — a  young  lady — 
to  keep  the  books  :  you  can  write  a  clear  hand,  oj  course  ? 
Write  me  a  few  lines  at  this  table." 

Violet  was  rather  flurried  by  his  quick,  harsh  way  of  speak- 
ing. 

"  I  think  I  can  write  very  well,"  said  she  ;  "  but — but  my 
hand  trembles  just  now — " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  as  the  next  victim  was  asked  to  walk  up- 


IN  LONDON.  285 

Stairs,  "you  had  better  go  and  call  on  Mr.  Dowse  yourself. 
Excuse  me  ;  this  is  my  busiest  time  in  the  day.  Good-morn- 
ing :  Sally,  good-morning." 

The  blithe  landlady  was  not  discomfited. 

"  We  will  go  in  at  once  and  see  Mr.  Dowse,"  she  said, 
with  decision. 

"  I  am  putting  you  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  said  Violet. 

"We  will  talk  about  that  afterward,"  she  replied. 

Everybody  has  heard  of — and  a  good  many  husbands 
know  to  their  cost — the  firm  of  Dowse  &  Son,  the  great  art- 
ists in  wall-papering,  makers  of  Gothic  furniture,  carvers  in 
wood  and  stone,  and  workers  in  metal.  They  are  the  high- 
priests  of  mediaeval  forms  and  colors.  They  have  established 
a  cultus  in  South  Kensington  ;  all  about  Campden  Hill  their 
disciples  cry  aloud  against  the  gilded  fripperies  of  these  mod- 
ern days.  Even  as  you  go  past  the  gaudy  windows  in  Regent 
Street  there  is  one  that  attracts  you  by  its  mysterious  severity  ; 
the  eye  is  arrested.  For  the  regenerators  of  taste  have  not 
scrupled  to  employ  the  extreme  methods  of  their  art  even  \\\ 
decorating  their  own  business  premises  ;  you  must  lay  aside 
recollections  of  worldly  vanity  and  vulgar  comfort  even  as 
you  enter  that  narrow  and  gloomy  corridor  which  is  painted 
a  livid  Egyptian  red.  You  come  to  a  narrow  door  ;  the  under 
part  is  of  wood,  painted  a  deac>  sea-green — the  upper  part  ap- 
parently consists  of  the  ends  of  glass  bottles,  bars  of  brass 
crossing  the  semi-transparent  panes.  You  enter,  and  are 
overawed.  There  is  no  trifling,  no  flippancy,  in  the  stern, 
unyielding  lines,  in  the  massive  forms,  in  the  gloomy  colors. 
The  oak  dado  is  studded  with  hand-painted  tiles  ;  there  is  an 
unpiting  stare  in  the  eyes  of  the  falcon,  and  the  leaves  of 
that  bit  of  apple-blosson  will  last  for  ever  and  ever.  There 
is  something  severer  than  sadness  in  the  cold  gray-green  of 
the  wall.  Then  the  broad  frieze  with  its  melancholy  proces- 
sion of  figures,  and  its  legend  in  stiff  gold  letters  below  :  how 
can  those  men  and  women  look  happy  when  the  firmament 
above  them — that  is  to  say,  the  roof — is  of  solid  black  and 
green,  with  splashes  of  orange-leaves  instead  of  stars  ? 

Well,  one  must  be  fair  to  Messrs.  Dowse  &  Son,  and  their 
fellow-workers.  They  have  abolished  floral  carpets  ;  they 
have  banished  gilded  plaster ;  they  have  inspired  a  love  of 
sound  workmanship  and  honest  materials.  It  is  true  that 
their  theory  of  utility  being  the  proper  basis  of  all  ornament 
is  not  always  carried  out ;  for  they  give  us  windows  that  are 
every  thing  that  is  beautiful,  only  they  don't  let  in  light ;  and 
they  give  us  dining-room  sideboards  that  would  shudder  if 


286  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

cold  meat  were  put  on  them  instead  of  blue  china  ;  they  give 
us  mirrors  that  only  reflect  distortions,  and  place  them  so 
that  even  these  can  scarcely  be  seen;  they  give  us  quite 
lovely  and  remarkable  fire-places,  the  most  insignificant  fea- 
ture of  which  is  the  fire  ;  and,  indeed,  when  you  have  your 
dining-room  finally  finished,  and  you  ask  some  people  to  dine 
with  you,  you  find,  in  looking  round  the  room,  that  the  furni- 
ture is  every  thing,  and  the  people  nothing  at  all.  But  high 
art  is  as  Schopenhauer  in  its  contempt  for  the  worthless 
race  of  man. 

Now,  this  Mr.  Dowse  was  a  stout,  middle-sized,  pink-faced, 
and  white-haired  man,  who  had  eyes  at  once  shrewd  and 
genial.  In  business  he  was  both  keen  and  generous ;  his 
money  came  to  him  easily,  and  he  spent  it  lightly ;  he  had 
already  made  a  large  fortune  for  himself,  and  he  was  not 
at  all  slow  to  let  the  artists  and  artificers  whom  he  employed 
share  in  his  prosperity.  He  was  an  excellent  master ;  he 
knew  goo(>work,  and  would  pay  well  for  it ;  he  took  good  care 
to  be  paid  very  well  for  it  in  turn.  When,  having  had  some 
conversation  with  this  tall  young  lady  (and  being  quick  to  see 
the  artistic  value  of  her  graceful  figure  and  dark  hair  in 
these  premises,  which  he  tried  to  make  as  like  a  private  house 
as  possible),  and  when,  through  some  passing  shyness,  he 
turned  from  her  to  Mrs.  Roberts  and  quietly  asked  what  sal- 
ary the  young  lady  required,  and  when  Mrs.  Roberts,  boldly 
seizing  the  occasion,  said  a  guinea  a  week,  he  assented  at 
once.  If  she  had  said  two  guineas,  he  would  have  assented  at 
once.  He  was  almost  carelessly  liberal  in  such  matters  ; 
partly  because  he  made  other  people  pay  for  his  extrava- 
gance. So  it  was  understood  that  Violet  North  was  to  have 
a  week's  trial  in  this  Gothic  furniture  place  ;  and  she  was 
given  an  elaborate  illustrated  catalogue  that  she  might  take 
home  with  her  and  become  acquainted  with  its  technical 
terms. 

Then  aS  to  lodgings,  Mrs.  Roberts  was  good  enough  to 
provide  her  with  these  also.  Miss  North,  or  rather  Miss 
Main,  explained  that  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  save  as  much 
as  ever  she  could  out  of  that  guinea  a  week,  and  that  a  single 
small  room  would  be  quite  enough  for  her  :  she  would  be  at 
work  all  day,  and  could  dispense  with  a  sitting-room  at  night. 

"  I  wonder  when  they  shut  up  that  place  in  the  evening  ?  " 
she  said. 

Mrs.  Roberts  did  not  know ;  but  pointed  out  that  that  was 
not  the  sort  of  a  place  to  expect  late  customers. 


IN  LONDON.  287 

"  Oh,  but  I  hope  they  will  keep  open  very  late,"  said  Miss 
Main. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  shall  have  less  time  to  sit  by  myself  after  get- 
ting home." 

"But,"  said  the  landlady,  with  some  surprise,  "have  you 
no  friends  or  acquaintances  at  all  1  Not  a  single  person  to 
go  to  see  of  an  evening  t  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Main,  with  a  smile,  "  I  will  come  and  see 
you  sometimes,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"  There  is  no  one  else  .'*  " 

"  Not  any  one.  My  friends  are  in  Scotland.  I  suppose 
there  is  some  stationer's  shop  about  here  where  they  lend 
you  books }  " 

The  room  that  the  girl  eventually  rented  was  in  a  house  in 
Great  Titchfield  Street :  she  said  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
for  her  to  live  near  Regent  Street.  And  if  Mrs.  Roberts  had 
happened  to  follow  her  protegee  any  morning  as  she  went 
down  to  Mr.  Dowse's  warehouse,  she  would  have  observed 
that  Miss  Main,  always  deeply  veiled,  never  walked  along 
Oxford  Street  and  down  Regent  Street,  but  invariably  went 
down  through  the  narrow  little  streets  lying  behind  Regent 
Street,  and  then  got  into  that  thoroughfare  close  by  Mr. 
Dowse's  place. 

The  week  passed,  and  Mr.  Dowse  expressed  himself  quite 
satisfied.  He  even  hoped  that  Miss  Main  found  her  situation 
comfortable  ;  and  hinted  that  if  there  was  any  alteration  in 
hours,  or  anything  of  that  sort,  which  she  might  prefer,  she 
would  have  every  consideration  shown  her.  Indeed,  her 
duties  were  not  very  severe ;  for  every  article  was  numbered 
and  figured  and  priced  in  the  catalogue,  so  that  she  had  an 
unfailing  book  of  reference.  She  had  a  pretty  little  desk  all 
to  herself,  considerably  back  in  the  premises  ;  and  she  could 
see  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  came  in  to  consult  Mr. 
Dowse  or  his  son,  and  she  could  hear  them  talk,  herself  being 
unnoticed  in  the  half  twilight.  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Dowse 
was  glad  to  get  an  assistant,  who,  besides  being  able  to  write 
write  clearly  and  well,  never  made  any  mistakes  in  the  spell- 
ing of  Italian  words,  and  put  the  proper  accents  over  her 
French.  Both  father  and  son  became  very  friendly  with  the 
young  lady,  and  insensibly  began  to  draw  her  into  consulta- 
tions about  the  colors  of  the  hangings,  and  so  forth,  until  on 
some  points  her  opinion  was  invariably  asked.  Once,  indeed, 
Mr.  Dowse,  senior,  was  fairly  surprised  by  some  remark  she 
made,  and  he  said  to  her, 


288  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  must  say,  Miss  Main,  that  you  seem  to  know  a  good 
deal  about  a  great  many  things." 

The  girl  cast  her  eyes  down. 

"  I — I  once  lived  with  some  friends,"  she  said,  timidl}^, 
"  who  knew  every  thing,  I  think ;  and  I  used  to  hear  them 
talk." 

"  You  must  have  listened  to  good  purpose,"  said  he,  in  a 
kindly  way. 

Well,  it  was  a  sufficiently  monotonous  life  that  the  girl  led ; 
but  she  reflected,  with  great  gratitude,  that  it  might  have 
been  much  harder  t6  bear.  When  she  grew  tired  of  reading 
at  night  in  that  solitary  little  room,  she  used  to  turn  out  the 
gas,  and  go  and  sit  at  the  window.  She  stared  out  at  the 
pavements,  and  the  few  passers-by,  and  the  gas-lamps,  and 
the  blazing  windows  of  a  distant  public-house  ;  but  she  did 
not  see  much  of  these  things.  A  dream  used  to  come  before 
her  eyes  ;  and  in  place  of  the  gaunt  buildings  opposite,  she 
saw  a  wonderful  and  beautiful  picture  stretching  out  before 
her.  It  was  twilight  in  the  magical  Northern  land  ;  a  faint 
glow  of  saffron  and  red  dying  out  over  the  mountains  of  Mull ; 
a  clearer  metallic,  greenish  yellow  light  all  over  the  north ; 
and  the  sea  around  the  islands  shining  in  silvery-gray.  And 
away  down  there  in  the  south,  over  the  black  island  of 
Kerrara,  the  new  moon  hung  in  the  violet-hued  heavens,  its 
silver  crescent  cut  in  twain  by  a  flake  of  purple  cloud.  She 
could  hear  the  wash  of  the  waves  around  the  shores. 

Then  she  thought  of  her  friends  there,  especially  of  him 
who  had  been  more  than  any  friend  to  her.  It  might  have 
been  expected  that,  now  she  had  cut  herself  off  forever  from 
those  old  friends  and  old  associations,  and  become  surrounded 
by  new  persons  and  new  circumstances,  the  latter  would  dull 
the  influence  of  the  former  over  her.  No  such  thing  was 
possible.  That  unseen  influence  governed  her ;  it  inter- 
penetrated her  very  nature.  Her  love  for  this  man  took  the 
form  of  an  idolatrous  reverence  for  all  that  he  had  taught 
her,  for  all  that  she  had  heard  him  say.  More  than  ever 
would  she  have  had  to  confess  to  herself,  as  she  had  con- 
fessed in  former  days,  "  Thou  art  my  life,  my  love,  my  heart ; 
the  very  eyes  of  me."  It  was  through  his  eyes  that  she  still 
saw  the  world  around  her,  however  indifferent  it  had  become 
to  her.  It  used  to  move  her  admiration  to  see  how  that  tall 
student  of  men  and  manners  seemed  to  be  interested  in  every 
thing,  and  how  he  was  content  to  go  anywhere,  certain  to  be 
amused,  if  not  instructed.  She  could  not  pretend  to  this 
keen,  restless  curiosity,  for  the  world  had  grown  very  tame  to 


IN  LONDON.  2S9 

her  ;  but  her  impressions  of  things  were  as  certainly  molded 
by  his  influence  oves  her  as  if  he  had  been  there  to  speak  to 
her.  One  night  she  got  tired  of  sitting  and  staring  out  at  the 
empty  streets.  She  relighted  the  gas,  and  took  out  a  small 
note-book  from  her  pocket.  She  would  try  to  recollect  all 
the  things  that  he  had  said  to  her — those  chance  reflections 
which  he  dropped  from  time  to  time  in  the  careless  flow  of 
his  talk — and  this  would  be  the  only  memento  of  him  she 
would  be  able  to  take  with  her  when  she  left  England  forever. 
And  so  the  meek  Boswell  began  to  put  down  these  lines  : 

"  Did  you  ever  try  to  extinguish  a  piece  of  wood  at  night, 
and  find  at  the  end  but  one  red  spark,  a  beautiful  red  eye 
that  came  again  and  again  through  the  black  as  you  struck 
at  it  with  the  poker,  without  feeling  that  you  were  a  murderer, 
and  the  destroyer  of  a  beautiful  secret  life  ? 

"  The  only  hope  of  posthumous  fame  that  an  ordinary  En- 
glishman has,  is  to  live  in  the  meijiory  of  his  children  and 
other  relations.  This  is  a  great  moral  safeguard  ;  it  has  the 
most  beneficial  influence  during  life. 

"  Every  body  is  vain,  but  some  people  have  the  faculty  of 
concealing  their  vanity.  On  the  other  hand,  ought  that  to 
be  considered  a  vice  which  is  a  universal,  ingrained,  inevitable 
constituent  of  human  nature  ?  What  is  the  good  of  protest- 
ing that  the  sky  ought  to  be  pink  ? 

"The  man  who  considers  himself  wholly  independent  of 
other  people — as  owing  nothing  to  them  that  he  can  not  pay 
— is  a  dastardly  repudiator  of  millions  of  debts  of  obligation, 
not  one  of  which  has  been  paid,  or  could  be  paid,  to  the  real 
creditor.  All  his  life-long,  he  has  been  saying  to  person  after 
person,  '  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  ; '  and  if  he  were  any  thing 
else  than  a  miserable  sneak  he  would  make  of  these  perpet- 
ual small  obligations  a  general  fund  to  be  drawn  upon  when 
occasion  offers.  The  other  day  a  wonan  said  she  would  be 
much  obliged  to  me  if  I  bought  a  box  of  matches  of  her.  I 
bought  the  box  of  matches.  But  what  is  the  use  of  her  be- 
ing obliged  to  me  when  I  shall  never  see  her  again  ?  She 
ought  to  pay  off  the  obligation  to  her  husband  or  to  her  chil- 
dren." 

And  so  she  wrote  on  ;  but  how  cold  and  formal  these 
things  looked,  wanting  the  quick  variation  of  tone  and  the 
look  of  the  bright,  observant  eyes  !  They  were  but  as  dead 
leaves  shaken  off  from  the  living  tree  ;  one  could  scarcely 
believe  that  these  poor  withered  things  had  ever  shone  green 
in  the  sunlight. 

19 


290  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

As  she  turned  over  page  after  page,  she  came  to  a  scrap  of 
printed  matter,  apparently  cut  out  of  a  newspaper.  It  was  a 
paragraph  describing  a  "  Sad  Occurrence  in  the  Highlands ;  " 
and  it  told  how  a  young  lady,  daughter  of  Sir  Acton  North, 
the  well-known  engineer,  had  been  on  a  visit  to  some  friends 
in  the  Highlands,  and  how,  going  on  a  certain  morning  for 
her  accustomed  bathe  in  the  sea,  she  must  have  stumbled, 
fallen  down  the  rocks,  and  been  drowned,  her  hand-bag  hav- 
ing been  found  at  the  kt(\^(^  of  the  rocks,  and  her  hat  having 
been  picked  up  by  some  fishermen  a  mile  or  two  farther  along 
the  coast. 

"  And  not  a  word  in  praise  of  me,"  she  was  thinking  to  her- 
self, as  she  looked  at  the  well-worn  bit  of  paper.  "Just  when 
you  are  recently  dead,  they  generally  say  nice  things  about 
you.  Here  they  don't  even  mention  the  sweetness  of  my 
temper,  w^hich  even  my  friends — particularly  Lady  North — 
universally  acknowledged  while  I  was  alive.  But  perhaps 
they  will  publish  a  memoir  of  me  some  day,  under  the  title  of 
'  The  Meek  School-girl ;  an  Example  for  all  Good  Young 
Children.' " 

She  pushed  the  book  and  the  bit  of  paper  away  :  her  eyes 
were  tired,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  sad,  in  spite  of  all  her  joking. 
She  leaned  her  arms  on  the  table,  and  put  down  her  head  on 
them,  and  looked  as  if  she  slept :  that  was  how  she  let  the 
spirit  escape  from  its  prison-house.  London  no  longer  held 
her  at  this  moment ;  for  she  was  up  at  Isle  Ornsay,  in  the 
clear  light  of  the  summer  days,  and  the  blue  waters  around 
her,  and  sweet  airs  blowing  over  from  the  hills.  That  was 
the  beautiful,  shining  land  where  life  had  seemed  fair  and 
lovely  to  her  for  a  brief  w^hile  ;  and  in  this  solitude  of  London, 
"with  its  hopeless  days  and  lonely  evenings,  her  sick  heart 
yearned  back  toward  that  never-to-be-forgotten  time,  and  she 
saw  it  again  before  her  as  a  dream.  Was  not  this  the  Sea- 
I'yof,  with  her  white  sails  shining  in  the  sun  ?  Over  there, 
at  the  point  of  the  land,  was  the  light-house  ;  presently  they 
would  go  scudding  by,  to  raise  flocks  of  screaming  sea-birds 
off  the  rocks.  Are  the  guns  on  deck .? — there  may  be  curlew 
in  the  bay  beyond.  And  see  how  the  green  waves  rush  by, 
breaking  in  masses  of  foam  ;  and  how  the  great  sails  strain 
with  the  wind  ;  and  how  the  prow  of  the  shapely  little  vessel 
rises  and  breasts  the  swell  of  the  waters.  Whither  away 
now  ? — still  farther  into  the  far  Northern  solitudes,  full  of 
mystery  and  tenderness,  where  the  air  is  sweet,  and  God  him- 
self seems  near  in  the  awful  silence  of  the  mountains  and  the 
majesty  of  the  rolling  seas.     Enough.     She  rises,  here  in 


THE  LA  URELS  A  T  WOMBLE  Y  FLA  T.  291 

this  poor  lodging-house  in  London,  and  her  eyes  are  so  bUnded 
by  her  tears  that  as  she  looks  around  her  she  scarce  can  tell 
whether  the  beautiful,  pathetic  dream  has  wholly  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

THE   LAURELS   AT   WOMBLEY   FLAT. 

The  Dowse  family — ^father,  mother,  and  son — lived  near 
Eton,  the  members  of  the  firm  getting  down  each  evening  in 
time  for  dinner.  If  nothing  but  high  art  was  known  in  their 
place  in  Regent  Street,  nothing  but  middle-class  comfort,  of 
a  somewhat  profuse  order,  reigned  throughout  The  Laurels, 
at  Wombley  Flat.  It  was  a  large,  irregular,  whitewashed  house, 
with  verandas,  plenty  of  conservatories,  French  windows 
throwing  in  floods  of  light  into  the  rooms,  lounging  easy-chairs 
of  all  sorts  of  shapes,  old-fashioned  grates,  with  hobs  to  them, 
and  cigar-ash  trays  on  the  drawing-room  mantle-piece. 

On  Friday  evening  the  Dowses  were,  as  usual,  dining  to- 
gether. Mrs.  Dowse  had  been  a  slim  and  spry  young  bur- 
lesque actress  when  Mr.  Dowse  married  her  and  carried  her 
off  the  stage  ;  she  was  now  a  portly  and  elderly  person,  with 
a  comfortable,  complexionless  face,  and  silvery  gray  hair, 
who  dearly  loved  her  midday  lunch  and  its  bottled  stout,  and 
who  wore  a  good  deal  of  jewelry  in  the  evening.  Her  son 
was  also  fat  and  pale  of  face,  parting  his  auburn  hair  in  the 
middle,  and  combing  it  down  on  his  forehead.  He  was  the 
member  of  the  firm  who  lent  solemnity  and  mystery  to  its 
transactions.  It  was  he  who  devised  schemes  of  coloring  for 
the  interior  of  a  house  ;  and  there  was  a  certain  vague  earn- 
estness of  belief  about  him  which  qualified  and  condoned  the 
shrewd  and  somtimes  jocular  look  of  his  father.  Dowse 
Fere  treated  the  esoteric  talk  of  Dowse  Fits  with  great  re- 
spect ;  he  saw  that  other  people  believed  in  those  subtle  laws 
of  tone  and  harmony ;  he  was  content  to  leave  the  whole  ar- 
rangement of  a  house  in  the  hands  of  his  son,  while  he  under- 
took the  not  unprofitable  business  of  furnishing  it  with  high- 
art  furniture. 

"  Mother,"  said  Mr.  Edward  Dowse,  on  this  particular  even- 
ing, *'  I  had  a  talk  with  Roberts,  the  photographer,  to-day 
about  that  young  lady  we  have  had  with  us  now  for  some 
time." 

*' Miss  Main.?" 


292  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Yes  ;  and  she  seems  to  be  a  greater  mystery  than  ever. 
His  sister-in-law  tells  him  that  the  girl  lives  the  life  of  a  her- 
mit ;  goes  straight  home  every  evening,  and  never  stirs  out ; 
spends  her  time  in  reading  or  writing.  On  the  Sunday  fore- 
noon, when  every  body  else  is  at  church,  she  goes  for  a  walk 
in  Regent's  Park ;  in  the  afternoon,  when  every  body  else  is 
at  home  or  out  walking,  she  goes  to  church.  That  is  a  lively 
sort  of  life,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  And  what  is  the  mystery,  Teddy  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Dowse,  with 
just  a  trace  of  Irish  accent. 

"  Why,  it  appears  Mrs.  Roberts  knew  nothing  at  all  about 
her  before  she  brought  her  into  our  place.  Did  you  know 
that,  father  ?  " 

Mr.  Dowse  was  at  all  times  disposed  to  take  an  easy,  after- 
dinner  view  of  things ;  and  more  particularly  at  the  present 
moment  was  he  unlikely  to  bother  his  head  about  the  missing- 
portions  in  the  history  of  Miss  Main. 

"Well,  I  didn't,"  said  he.  "I  imagined  she  was  some 
sort  of  acquaintance.  But  what  does  it  matter  ?  The  proof 
of  a  puddin',  you  know.  Miss  Main  answers  our  purpose 
admirably." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  at  all,"  said  Dowse  junior,  with  a 
flush  coming  into  his  pale  face  ;  for  did  it  not  appear  that  he 
had  been  suggesting  suspicions  ?  "I  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing quite  different.  Now  just  look  at  the  life  that  girl  is 
leading.  It  isn't  fit  for  a  human  creature.  And  I  don't  be- 
lieve she  has  a  friend  in  London — " 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Mr.  Dowse,  dreamily ;  he  was  thinking 
of  having  his  cigar  in  the  drawing-room,  with  Mrs.  Dowse 
singing  her  favorite  old  Irish  songs  to  him. 

"  Well,  mother,  what  do  you  say  to  running  up  to  town  to- 
morrow, and  persuading  the  girl  to  come  down  here  with  you 
till  the  Monday  ?  It  would  be  an  act  of  common  Chris- 
tian charity ;  and  I  can  assure  you  she  is  a  most  lady-like 
girl-" 

"  I'll  do  it,  I  will,  Teddy,  if  ye  like,"  said  she,  readily,  and 
she  looked  at  her  husband. 

Mr.  Dowse  had  frequently  a  quiet  laugh  to  himself  at  his 
wife  and  son,  who  were  really  simple,  good-natured  people, 
with  not  much  sense  of  humor  in  their  composition  ;  but  on 
this  occasion  he  could  not  altogether  keep  silent,  even  in  yield- 
ing to  them. 

"  Let  us  have  a  clear  understanding  about  it,  Teddy,"  said 
he.  "  I  don't  mind  her  coming  here — indeed,  she  deserves  a 
holiday,  for  she  is  the  most  tremendously  conscientious  girl 


THE  LA  URELS  A  T  WOMBLE  Y  FLA  T.  293 

about  her  work  I  ever  saw.  That's  all  very  fine,  you  know  ; 
but  is  that  the  whole  of  it  ?  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  in- 
troduce her  into  the  firm— Dowse,  Son,  and  Daughter-in- 
law?" 

"  And  what's  the  use  of  your  putting  such  nonsense  into 
the  boy's  head  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Dowse  ;  but  she  laughed  all  the 
time,  for  she  had  seen  the  handsome  young  lady  many  a  time, 
and  if  the  boy  would  like  to  have  a  pretty  wife,  why  shouldn't 
he? 

The  young  man,  though  he  blushed  worse  than  ever,  af- 
fected to  treat  this  suggestion  as  too  ridiculous. 

"  Why,  I  know,"  said  he,  "  that  she  is  engaged  to  some 
Scotchman  or  other." 

"  And  how  did  you  find  that  out,  Teddy  ?  "  asked  his 
mother. 

"  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world,"  said  he,  though  he  was 
not  a  little  proud  of  his  astuteness.  "  She  is  always  quoting 
the  sayings  and  opinions  of  some  friends  of  hers  in  Scotland ; 
and  you  can  easily  see  they  are  the  opinions  of  a  man — a 
woman  wouldn't  believe  so  much  in  another  woman.  She 
has  no  friends  in  London — he  must  be  a  Scotchman — " 

"  But  how  do  you  know  she  is  engaged  to  him  ?  " 

"Well,  can  you  imagine  a  beautiful  girl  like  that  without  a 
sweetheart  ?  Impossible  !  " 

The  object  of  Dowse  junior  in  asking  this  favor — ^which 
was  immediately  granted  by  his  indulgent  parents — was  a 
mixed  one.  Doubtless  he  did  feel  some  pity  for  the  girl, 
and  knew  that  he  was  doing  a  friendly  action  in  breaking  in 
on  the  monotony  of  her  life.  But  Edward  Dowse  had  a  num- 
ber of  nebulous  ambitions  floating  about  in  his  mind ;  the 
study  of  the  mysterious  harmonies  of  colors  was  only  his  out- 
ward and  visible  calling.  Sometimes  he  dreamed  he  would 
be  a  great  painter ;  at  other  times  a  certain  vein  of  poetical 
sentiment,  which  he  undoubtedly  possessed,  enabled  him  to 
compose  a  sonnet  or  a  lyric  of  some  mild  merit.  These  as- 
pirations never  amounted  to  a  passion ;  he  was  haunted  by 
self-criticism  :  probably  he  had  too  wide  and  intelligent  a 
knowledge  of  the  methods  of  other  people  ever  to  attack  any 
definite,  original  work  boldly,  and  without  thought  of  any 
thing  but  his  own  purpose.  However,  the  aspirations  re- 
mained floating  about  in  a  mind  that  had  too  many  half- 
formed  sympathies.  The  more  he  looked  at  this  girl,  the 
more  he  was  fascinated  by  the  possibility  that  she  might  be- 
come the  shock  that  would  suddenly  precipitate  the  floating 
crystals  of  his  fancy.     He  seemed  to  gather  strength  as   he 


294  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

regarded  her  ;  there  was  something  dauntless  and  high-spir- 
ited in  her  bearing,  which  might  inspire  a  man  to  write  a  fiery 
poem  of  patriotism  and  war.  There  was  a  mystery,  too,  about 
her ;  she  might  reveal  to  him  some  tragedy — some  glimpse 
of  the  pain,  and  suffering,  and  fortitude,  to  be  met  with  among 
the  commonplaceness  of  life.  He  did  not  wish  to  fall  in  love 
with  her,  but  he  was  fascinated  by  her;  and  he  wondered 
whether  he  might  not  learn  something  of  the  story  that  was 
hidden  behind  that  proud  reserve  of  hers, 

Mrs.  Dowse  had  a  hard  fight  of  it  with  Violet,  who,  with 
great  gratitude,  but  also  with  much  firmness,  declined  to  go 
down  to  Berkshire,  But  Mrs.  Dowse  had  not  come  up  to 
London  for  nothing.  Pressed  into  a  corner,  the  girl  weakly 
based  her  defense  on  the  fact  that  she  had  no  traveling-bag ; 
whereupon  a  traveling-bag  was  instantly  produced  by  Mr. 
Dowse  himself,  who  forthwith  sent  off  his  wife  and  Miss 
Violet  in  a  cab  to  the  lodgings  of  the  latter,  where  she  made 
a  few  necessary  preparations  for  her  brief  journey.  Mrs. 
Dowse  was  very  kind  to  her. 

Now,  if  these  friendly  people  had  any  notion  before  that 
there  was  some  mystery  about  the  girl,  they  were  not  likely 
to  have  the  impression  removed  by  a  closer  acquaintance. 
She  seemed  strangely  familiar  with  modes  of  life  not  likely  to 
come  within  the  ken  of  a  shop-assistant.  Yet  she  talked 
very  little  during  the  railway  journey :  they  could  not  under- 
stand why  she  should  be  so  sad  and  silent,  when  they  were 
taking  her  off  for  a  holiday. 

It  was  her  first  glimpse  of  the  country  since  she  had  been 
up  among  the  Highland  hills  and  seas  ;  the  first  time  she  had 
escaped  from  the  prison  of  the  city.  And  yet  these  out-of- 
door  sights  seemed  somehow  strange  and  unnatural ;  the 
outer  world  had  changed  since  last  she  saw  blue  skies  and 
green  fields.  True,  this  midday  sky  was  blue  enough  when 
they  got  well  outside  London  ;  and  the  sun  was  shining  down 
on  green  meadows ;  but  the  green  was  raw,  wet,  and  wintr}^ 
Out  by  Ealing  and  Hanwell  they  came  into  the  region  of 
orchards;  the  leafless  branches  of  the  short  and  stumpy  trees 
were  black.  But  still  farther  out  the  trees  were  not  wholly  leaf- 
les  ;  the  oaks  were  still  of  a  russet-brown,  the  elms  of  a  golden 
yellow,  the  pines  dark-green;  and  then  they  got  into  the 
country  proper,  where  there  were  long  stretches  of  plowed 
land,  and  here  and  there  a  field  green  with  spring  wheat  just 
coming  up;  and  dank  meadows,  with  sheep  in  them  that 
would  have  been  badly  off  without  turnips.  Moreover,  though 
it  was  November,  there  was  a  spring-like  mildness  in  the  air ; 


THE  LA  URELS  A  T  WOMBLE  V  FLA  T.  295 

and  the  skies  were  blue  enough.  Was  it  only  fancy  that  con- 
vinced her  the  world  had  changed  so  much  within  a  couple 
of  months  or  so  ? 

A  wagonette  and  pair  of  handsome  grays  met  them  at 
Windsor  Station ;  Mrs.  Dowse  got  up  on  the  box-seat  and 
took  the  reins,  Violet  sitting  next  her,  the  others  getting  in 
behind.  Away  they  drove  down  the  town,  and  over  the 
bridge,  and  out  through  the  old-fashioned  streets  of  Eton. 
Violet's  spirits  rose.  Here  the  air  smelled  sweet ;  and  she 
was  fond  of  driving. 

"  I  see  you  don't  use  bearing-reins,"  said  she,  lightly,  to 
her  companion.  "  I  remember  one  of  my  father's  horses  that 
never  would  go  with  the  bearing-rein.  It  was  no  use.  There 
was  merely  a  jibbing-match  when  they  tried  to  fasten  up  his 
head  ;  and  yet  you  never  saw  an  animal  that  held  his  head 
better — without  any  bearing-rein  at  all.  It  used  to  look  odd, 
though,  to  have  a  bearing-rein  on  one  horse,  and  not  on  the 
other." 

She  had  no  thought  of  what  she  was  saying ;  but  Mrs. 
Dowse  had.  So  this  young  lady's  father  had  his  carriage  and 
pair  of  horses ! 

When  they  had  reached  The  Laurels,  and  when  Violet  had 
been  shown  up-stairs  to  her  room,  Mrs.  Dowse  did  not  fail  to 
repeat  to  her  husband  and  son  that  bit  of  conversation.  But 
Dowse  senior  repudiated  his  wife's  inference. 

"  Nonsense,  Florry !  Her  father  may  be  a  coachman,  who 
has  given  his  daughter  a  good  education.  The  poorer  classes 
in  Scotland  are  very  well  educated." 

"  But  she  is  not  Scotch." 

"  No ;  no  more  she  is.  Oh,  well,  if  her  father  was  a  duke, 
it  doesn't  matter.     Suppose  we  call  her  Lady  Violet  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  said  Dowse  junior,  with  a 
mysterious  air,  "  to  learn  that  her  name  was  not  Main  at 
all." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  his  father,  sharply.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  we  have  got  one  of  the  swell  mob  into  the  house — who 
is  to  open  the  doors  to  her  confederates  in  the  middle  of  the 
night — that  we  may  be  all  murdered  and  robbed  ?  This  is  a 
pretty  pass  you  have  brought  us  to  by  your  benevolent  pity." 

Mr.  Edward  Dowse  did  not  like  being  made  fun  of:  he 
opened  one  of  the  French  windows,  and  went  out  on  the 
lawn. 

Now,  when  Violet  came  down,  Mrs.  Dowse  proposed  that 
they  should  go  round  the  garden  and  have  a  look  at  the  place 
generally ;  and  here,  also,  their  guest  betrayed  an  amount  of 


296  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

knowledge  which  was  scarcely  to  be  expected.  She  knew  all 
the  finest  flowers  in  the  conservatories ;  she  knew  how  these 
ought  to  be  kept  when  cut ;  had  they  heard  of  the  new  Java 
plant  that  a  particular  florist  was  selling  at  twenty  pounds  a 
piece  ?  They  discovered,  however,  that  she  was  clearly  not  a 
country-bred  girl.  She  knew  nothing  about  pigeons,  or  about 
the  various  breeds  of  fowls,  or  even  about  vineries ;  and  she 
was  quite  helpless  in  the  kitchen  garden.  Nevertheless,  she 
was  very  much  interested  ;  and  they  spent  the  afternoon 
right  pleasantly,  until  the  gathering  twilight  and  the  chilly 
air  bid  them  go  in  and  dress  for  dinner. 

The  more  that  Edward  Dowse  saw  of  this  girl,  the  more  was 
his  curiosity  stimulated.  He  sat  opposite  her  at  dinner,  and 
could  see  the  effect  of  every  thing  that  was  said  on  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face.  She  had  been  a  trifle  embarrassed  at 
first :  that  had  worn  off ;  now  she  was  talking  quite  brightly 
and  cheerfully — it  was  some  time  since  she  had  been  roused 
into  vivacity  by  social  intercourse.  And  all  these  speeches 
of  hers  were,  in  a  measure,  a  revelation  of  herself ;  he  began 
to  fashion  imaginary  histories  of  her. 

His  fanciful  study  of  her,  however,  was  interrupted  by  a 
singular  little  incident.  He  was  talking  of  certain  artists 
whom  he  knew;  and  ha^Dpened  to  mention,  quite  accidentally, 
the  Judaeum  Club.     She  instantly  looked  up,  and  said,  quickly, 

"  Do  you — know  that  club .''  " 

"  I  am  a  member  of  it,"  he  answered. 

The  girl  was  silent  for  some  time  after  that ;  but  he  never 
forgot  the  quick  look  of  anxiety — almost  of  fright — that  passed 
over  her  face  as  she  asked  the  question.  That  she  knew  some 
one  in  that  club  he  considered  obvious ;  and  also  that  that 
some  one  had  had  something  to  do  with  her  previous  history. 
Here,  indeed,  was  something  for  him  to  think  about. 

If  Violet  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden  fear  on  learning 
that  this  young  man  belonged  to  the  club  of  which  George 
Miller  was  a  member,  she  did  not  let  the  knowledge  disturb 
her  enjoyment  of  that  evening.  They  had  really  a  very  pleas- 
ant evening ;  though  it  sometimes  recalled  other  evenings  that 
v/ere  now  best  hidden  away  in  the  past.  There  was  a  blaz- 
ing fire  in  the  white-and-gold  drawing-room  ;  and  a  good  deal 
of  cigar-smoke  too.  Mrs.  Dowse,  in  a  worn  and  feeble  voice, 
the  defects  of  which  were  almost  condoned  by  her  cleverness 
of  expression,  sung  all  sorts  of  old  and  familiar  Irish  songs, 
and  sung  them  very  nicely  indeed.  Then  she  would  have  her 
son  sing  also ;  and  Violet  had  a  suspicion  that  these  pretty 
little  chansonnettes  that  he  sung,  with  their  tears,  and  roses. 


THE  LA  URELS  A  T  WOMBLE  Y  FLA  T.  297 

and  nights  profound,  were  of  his  own  composition.  She  did 
no  care  much  for  that  kind  of  thing ;  she  had  been  educated 
in  a  robuster  air.  When  Mr.  Dowse  hinted  that  perhaps  Miss 
Violet  also  sung,  she  went  to  the  piano  at  once,  and  there 
was  mischief  in  her  face. 

Now,  the  young  lady  had  the  poorest  opinion  of  her  own 
singing,  and  in  ordinary  circumstances  would  have  flatly  de- 
clined to  make  what  she  considered  an  exhibition  of  herself ; 
but  a  certain  rebellious  feeling  had  got  the  better  of  her,  and 
she  was  determined  to  give  a  counterblast  to  all  those  melan- 
choly utterances  of  an  affected  French  sentiment.  She  was 
fresh  from  the  North ;  hothouse  airs  sickened  her.  There  was 
a  malicious  humor  in  her  face  as  she  sung,  at  random,  and 
with  some  briskness,  the  good,  old,  wholesome  ballad  of 
Willie's  visit  to  Melville  Castle,  which,  as  it  may  not  be  known 
much  in  the  South,  one  may  be  pardoned  for  quoting  here : 

"  O  Willie's  gane  to  Melville  Castle, 
Boots  and  spurs  and  a'," 

— it  begins  ;  and  there  was  a  sort  of  gallant  and  martial  air 
about  the  singer  that  convinced  one  of  the  listeners  that  if 
she  had  been  born  a  man  she  would  most  assuredly  have  be- 
come a  soldier — 

"  To  bid  the  leddies  a'  farewell, 
Before  he  gaed  awa'. 

"  The  first  he  met  was  Lady  Bet, 
Who  led  him  through  the  ha', 
And  with  a  sad  and  sorry  heart 
She  let  the  tears  doon  fa'. 

"  Near  the  fire  stood  Lady  Grace, 
Said  ne'er  a  word  ava  ; 
She  thought  that  she  was  sure  o'  him 
Before  he  gaed  awa'. 

"  The  next  he  saw  was  Lady  Kate  : 
Guid  troth,  he  needna  craw, 
Maybe  the  lad  will  fancy  me, 
And  disappoint  ye  a'." 

By  this  time  Violet  could  scarcely  sing  for  laughing;  and  Mr. 
Edward  Dowse  had  a  sore  suspicion  that  she  was  making  fun 
of  those  transcendental  longings  of  his,  in  rose-gardens,  with 
bruised  hearts,  and  the  ashes  of  dead  love  gray  in  the  moon- 
light. Mr.  Dowse,  too,  woke  up  :  he  was  not  at  home  in 
French  metrical  composition  ;  but  here  was  something  dis- 
tinctly intelligible.     She  continued  : 


298  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Then  down  the  stair  skipt  Lady  Jean, 
The  flower  among  them  a' ; 
Oh,  lasses,  trust  in  Providence, 
And  ye'll  get  husbands  a'. 

"  As  on  his  steed  he  gallop'd  off. 
They  a'  came  to  the  door  ; 
He  gayly  raised  his  feather'd  plume  ; 
They  set  up  sic  a  roar ! 

"  Their  sighs,  their  cries,  brought  Willie  back, 
He  kissed  them  ane  and  a', 
Oh,  lassies,  bide  till  I  come  hame, 
And  then  I'll  wed  ye  a' !  " 

She  was  not  ashamed  of  the  graceless  song,  as  she  rose  from 
the  piano  with  a  malicious  look  still  in  her  eyes  ;  and  Mrs. 
Dowse  was  vastly  delighted  with  it.  But  as  for  the  person 
whom  it  was  meant  to  convert  to  the  notion  that,  after  all, 
there  was  a  little  humor  in  human  nature,  and  that  a  man 
could  not  spend  his  life  in  beating  his  forehead  in  the  dust 
before  a  mysterious,  scornful,  and  probably  rather  foolish 
woman,  he  was  just  a  trifle  offended  at  first,  and  would  even 
have  ventured  on  some  disparagement  of  Scotland  and  Scotch 
literature  generally,  had  he  not  been  promptly  warned  oif 
that  dangerous  ground.  These  dissensions  were  brought  to 
an  end  by  a  servant  bringing  in  the  candles  and  putting  them 
conspicuously  in  the  middle  of  the  table.  That  was  a  cus- 
tom against  which  Mr.  Dowse  protested  in  vain  :  his  wife 
would  have  it  that  it  was  better  to  light  your  candle  in  the 
drawing-room  than  in  the  cold  hall. 

Mr.  Edward  Dowse  went  up  to  his  own  room,  which  seemed 
to  be  partially  fitted  up  as  a  study.  There  was  a  big  fire 
burning  in  the  grate ;  a  comfortable  easy-chair  before  it ;  a 
table,  with  a  box  of  cigars,  a  bottle  of  claret,  and  writing  ma- 
terials on  it.  He  lighted  a  cigar,  and  sat  down  before  the 
fire. 

He  was  a  much  more  impressionable  and  imaginative  young 
man  than  Mr.  George  Miller ;  and  there  was  something  in 
the  nature  of  this  girl — even  in  her  courageous  manner — 
that  affected  him  keenly,  because  he  was  so  absolutely  des- 
titute of  the  same  qualities  himself.  She  had  put  some  fire 
and  nerve  into  his  somewhat  nebulous  brain  :  at  this  moment, 
as  he  poured  Out  a  glass  of  claret,  he  wished  the  glass  could 
have  been  a  bowl — a  beaker  he  could  have  quaffed  to  Lady 
Jean  as  she  came  down  the  stair.  Soldiers'  songs  began  to 
stir  in  his  memory  ;  he  drank  a  glass  or  two  of  claret ;  some 
ringing  phrase  caught  his  fancy — surely  he,  too,  could  write 


'^THE  LA  URELS  A  T  WOMBLE  Y  FLA  T.  299 

something  that  would  rouse  the  heart  like  the  call  of  a 
trumpet.  He  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room  nervously 
— coining  phrases,  rhymes,  and  so  forth ;  and  then  he  hur- 
riedly sat  down  to  the  big  white  sheet  of  paper.  What  would 
she  say  to  this  t 

"  Stand  up,  my  lads  ! — I  give  to-day, 
The  heroes  bold  of  Tanqueray ! 
Be  they  in  heaven,  or  down  in  hell, 
Or  living  still,  I  can  not  tell : 
What  matters  it  ?     Up,  and  give  a  drain 
To  heroes  living  and  heroes  slain ! 
And  deepest  of  all  to  those,  I  say, 
Who  fought  like  fiends  at  Tanqueray !  '* 

He  was  positively  trembling  with  nervous  excitement :  he 
threw  his  cigar  into  the  fire,  drank  some  more  claret,  and  con^ 
tinned  the  rapid,  scrawling,  nervous  handwriting; 

"  God's  truth,  it  was  the  dead  o'  night  • 

We  stole  like  wild  cats  up  the  height ; 

And  Highland  Billy  he  cursed  and  swore 

He  never  had  seen  such  rocks  before. 
*  Kee  Vee  ? '  says  a  fellow.     I  dealt  him  a  blow 

That  sent  his  soul  to  the  devil  below ; 

And  then,  with  a  yell,  and  a  laugh,  and  a  cheer, 

Made  the  wakening  Frenchies  shiver  with  fear, 

We  sprung  at  the  guns ! — Boys,  that  was  the  way 

We  began  the  divarsion  at  Tanqueray  !  " 

This,  now,  was  the  sort  of  ballad  to  put  before  the  girl,  whom 
he  likened  to  Brunhilde,  the  warrior-queen — the  fierce  maiden 
repellent  of  love — unapproachable,  unconquerable  ! 

"  Asleep  ?  Not  they !    All  the  black  of  the  night 
Began  to  sputter  with  jets  of  light — 

And  higher  and  higher — 

And  nigher  and  nigher 
Came  the  crackle  and  roar  of  the  musketry  fire  1 
'  Curse  them,  I'm  done  ! ' — I  heard  him  fall — 
That  was  the  last  of  poor  Pat  from  Youghal." 

And  that  was  the  last,  too,  of  the  glorious  legend  of  Tanque- 
ray, wherever  Tanqueray  may  be  !  There  was  no  staying 
power  in  the  young  man.  He  had  got  so  far,  when  he  began 
to  fear  he  had  heard  something  like  it  before  ;  and  this  uneasy 
consciousness  caused  him  to  throw  down  the  pen  and  take  up 
the  paper.  He  -would  look  it  over ;  and  so  he  lighted  another 
cigar. 

It  did  not  read  so  well  now.  It  was  shockingly  out  of 
keeping  with  those  mystic  sonnets  of  passion  which  he  hoped 


300  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

to  publish  some  day ;  and  what  would  ladies  say  to  so  much 
bad  language  ?     What  would  Brunhilde  herself  say  ? 

Brunhilde  would  have  said  nothing  at  all ;  but  it  is  prob- 
able she  would  have,  as  usual,  fallen  back,  in  her  thoughts, 
on  a  remark  of  her  master's  :  "  Force  of  phrase  is  only  the 
bit  of  clay  that  a  butcher's  boy  flings  at  a  brick  wall  in  pass- 
ing ;  force  of  feeling  is  the  strong,  inevitable,  gentle  wind 
that  carries  a  ship  across  the  sea."  It  was  not  her  judgment, 
but  the  judgment  of  James  Drummond,  that  would  have 
spoken.  He  was  still — she  knew  he  would  be  to  the  end 
— the  "  very  eyes  "  of  her. 

As  for  this  hysteric  effort  of  a  weak  man  to  assume  the 
language  of  a  coarse  and  strong  man,  it  became  more  and 
more  distasteful  to  the  author  of  it,  who  tore  up  the  paper, 
threw  his  second  cigar  into  the  fire,  and  got  to  bed ;  so  that 
the  world  was  deprived  forever  of  the  ballad  of  the  fierce 
fight  at  Tanqueray. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AN    ENCOUNTER. 

Violet  came  down  next  morning  to  the  clean,  bright  break- 
fast-room. The  French  windows  showed  her  the  sunlight 
shining  on  the  green  lawn  outside  and  on  the  yellow  leaves 
left  on  the  chestnuts.  There  was  a  brisk  fire  burning  in  the 
grate.  All  this  bright,  warm  comfort,  and  the  strange  quiet 
of  the  Sunday  morning,  even  the  spotless  purity  of  the  table- 
linen,  seemed  so  different  from  London. 

She  feared  all  this.  She  wished  she  had  not  made  the 
acquaintance  of  these  friendly  people.  She  would  rather 
have  been  without  this  glimpse  of  kindly  home-life  before 
she  left  England  forever.  The  world  had  grown  very  dark 
for  her ;  and  as  her  chief  wish  now  was  to  be  out  of  it,  she 
did  not  care  to  make  new  friends  or  cultivate  new  associa- 
tions she  might  have  to  leave  with  some  regret.  That  lonely 
room  in  London  was  more  to  her  liking. 

Mrs.  Dowse  came  bustling  into  the  breakfast-room,  smiling, 
radiant,  apologizing  to  Violet  for  being  late,  and  almost 
apologizing  for  having  dressed  herself  somewhat  smartl}^ 
She  said  she  had  given  up  the  notion  of  surviving  her 
husband  and  marrying  again  ;  so  that  she  could  not  afford 
to   forfeit    Richard's    affections   by   sinking   into   slatternly 


AA^  ENCOUNTER.  301 

habits.  Richard  liked  to  see  her  smartly  dressed  in  the 
morning ;  and  there  was  nobody  else  to  dress  for.  If  she 
were  lost,  Richard  would  advertise  that  she  was  not  of  the 
slightest  use  to  any  one  but  the  owner.  And  so  the  good- 
natured  woman  chattered  on  in  a  friendly  way;  and  Violet 
really  began  to  like  her,  despite  her  somewhat  heavy  golden 
chains  and  brooches. 

At  breakfast,  Violet  seemed  rather  disinclined  to  go  to 
church ;  but  when  Edward  Dowse — who  looked  rather  pale 
and  unhealthy  in  the  morning — suggested  that  they  should 
have  the  wagonette  and  drive  away  to  a  certain  remote  and 
picturesque  little  parish  church  which  he  named,  she  eagerly 
assented  to  that.     In  due  time  they  started. 

"  Why  do  you  wear  a  veil  in  the  country,  Miss  Main?" 
said  Mrs.  Dowse,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  habit,"  the  girl  said. 

It, was  indeed  an  ancient  and  picturesque  little  church  they 
reached  at  length ;  the  outside  largely  overgrown  with  iv}', 
the  inside  quaint,  dusky,  and  smelling  of  damp.  They  were 
country  people  who  sat  in  the  benches-^mostly  old,  wrinkled, 
and  bowed.  The  parson  was  a  rubicund,  benevolent-look- 
ing man ;  presently  his  voice  sounded  in  a  monotonous  and 
melancholy  manner  through  the  hushed  little  building. 

She  heard  little  of  the  service ;  her  heart  was  sore.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  this  small  out-of-the-way  church  was  a  bit 
of  that  "  old  "  England  that  was  very  dear  to  her,  and  that 
she  was  about  to  leave  forever.  Leaving  London  was  noth- 
ing. But  where  in  that  far  land  to  which  she  was  going 
would  she  find  the  old-fashioned  parish  church,  and  the  sim- 
lole  peasants,  and  the  easy-going  paternal  pastor  t  It  was  all 
part  of  a  picture  that  had  been  familiar  to  her  from  her  child- 
hood— the  ivy  on  the  walls,  the  dull,  diamonded  panes  inside, 
the  marble  tablets,  the  oaken  pews,  and  the  fresh-washed 
faces  of  the  girls  who  stood  up  in  the  choir  to  sing.  Some- 
times, in  London,  she  went  to  a  very  grand  church,  which  had 
fine  architecture  without  and  elaborate  decorations  within ; 
and  she  was  much  impressed  by  the  music,  and  she  listened 
attentively  to  the  sermon.  She  had  never  thought  twice 
about  leaving  that.  Here,  in  this  Berkshire  church,  she  paid 
but  little  notice  to  the  different  parts  of  the  service,  and  the 
monotonous  voice  of  the  parson  rambled  on  through  his  dis- 
course unheeded;  but  she  knew  that  she  would  remember 
this  little  building  and  its  people  and  services  when  she  w^as 
far  away,  and  would  know  that  she  had  left  behind  her  apart 
of  herself  that  no  other  country  in  the  world  could  give  her. 


302  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

More  and  more  she  began  to  regret  that  she  had  ever  be^n 
tempted  away,  even  for  a  day,  from  the  lifeless  life  she  was 
leading  in  London. 

There  was  another  reason,  too,  why  she  wished  to  be  safely 
back  in  her  hiding-place.  She  could  never  say  that  by  acci- 
dent she  might  not  stmnble  on  some  one  who  knew  herself 
or  her  father,  so  long  as  she  was  moving  about  among  stran- 
gers and  strange  places.  In  London  she  was  secure.  She 
had  even  a  sense  of  freedom  there.  She  had  got  accustomed 
to  that  plan  of  life  which  she  had  devised  as  best  likely  to 
prevent  detection  ;  and  it  was  no  longer  an  embarrassment. 
In  the  twilight  that  prevailed  over  her  desk  she  was  safe. 
In  the  back  streets  leading  up  to  Oxford  Street  she  was  safe. 
Once  the  plunge  across  that  thoroughfare  taken — and  she  had 
a  thick  veil  to  conceal  her  face — she  was  close  to  her  lodg- 
ings, and  she  was  again  safe. 

But  here,  driving  about,  traveling  by  rail,  and  so  on,  who 
could  tell  ?  Moreover,  she  had  been  greatly  disturbed  on 
learning  that  P^dward  Dowse  was  a  member  of  the  Judaeum. 
She  knew  that  in  such  an  association  of  perhaps  fifteen  hun- 
dred persons,  it  did  not  at  all  follow  that  one  picked  out  at 
randcm  should  know  a  certain  other  one  ;  but  there  was  the 
risk ;  and  if  Edward  Dowse  did  happen  to  have  the  acquaint- 
ance of  George  Miller,  all  that  she  had  done  might  suddenly  be 
rendered  useless.  While  she  remained  in  London,  her  con- 
versation with  the  Dowses,  father  and  son,  had  been  almost 
exclusively  about  business  affairs.  Edward  Dowse  would 
never  have  thought  of  telling  her  that  he  was  a  member  of 
the  Judaeum.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  not  even  the  right 
to  take  a  friendly  interest  in  her  affairs.  They  were  practi- 
cally strangers,  and  apart.  Now  the  case  was  somewhat  diff- 
erent ;  and  as  the  girl  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  Dowses 
must  suspect  her  of  having  belonged  to  a  condition  in  life 
superior  to  that  which  she  was  now  in,  she  began  more  and 
more  to  dread  the  consequences  of  this  kindly  interference 
in  her  welfare.  .  y 

Then  she  noticed,  with  some  dismay,  that  Edward  Dowse 
would  persistently  talk  to  her  about  the  Judaeum  Club.  At 
luncheon,  for  example,  he  sat  opposite  her — she  facing  the  win- 
dow, he  in  shadow ;  and  she  knew  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
her  as  he  proceeded  to  speak  of  this  man  and  that  man,  pro- 
fessing to  give  humorous  little  sketches  of  them.  They  were 
not  as  keen,  shrewd,  and  accurate  sketches  as  George  Miller 
could  have  given  of  some  of  bis  fellows;  they  were  loose, 
imaginative,  and  rather  weak  ^  but  she  noticed  that  he  al- 


■ti^^gl^. 


AN  ENCOUNTER.  303 

ways  mentioned  each  man  by  name.  The  fancy  leaped  Into 
her  head  that  this  young  man  had  noticed  her  embarrassment 
on  the  preceding  evening,  when  he  announced  that  he  was  a 
member  of  the  Judaeum  Club  ;  and  that  now  he  was  trying  to 
find  out — by  the  same  key — which  of  the  members  she  knew. 
Her  supposition  was  correct. 

The  mystery  about  this  girl  fascinated  the  young  man. 
Perhaps  it  was  more  a  literary  than  a  personal  interest  he 
had  in  her — he  imagined  possibilities  of  romance  in  connec- 
tion with  her  which  might  perchance  feed  his  poetic  flame ; 
but,  at  all  events,  he  was  determined  to  find  out,  if  he  could, 
who  and  what  she  really  was.  The  method  of  discovery  he 
employed  was  not  highly  ingenious,  but  he  persevered  with 
it ;  while  the  mere  suspicion  on  her  part  that  he  was  talking 
about  clubs  for  this  purpose  produced  a  great  embarrassment 
in  the  girl's  manner,  which  rendered  it  certain  that  if  he  did 
mention  the  right  name  by  accident,  she  would  assuredly  be- 
tray herself. 

"After  all," he  was  saying,  "there  is  a  democratic  equality 
and  independence  about  an  ordinary  big  club  that  you  don't 
get  in  the  smaller  clubs  that  are  founded  by  distinguished  peo- 
ple for  particular  purposes.  In  these  small  clubs  the  big  men 
tyrannize  over  you ;  and  they  do  that  when  they  are  dead,  too. 
You  go  into  the  place  as  a  guest ;  your  friend  tells  you  that 
the  club  was  founded  by  So-and-so ;  you  look  round  the  room 
at  the  nobodies  who  are  there,  and  wonder  at  the  cheek  of 
the  man  who  sits  in  the  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table.  These 
ghosts  of  the  big  men  overshadow  the  place.  But  in  an  ordi- 
nary large  club,  like  a  hotel,  Mr.  Ferdinand  Stettin,  the  wool- 
broker,  is  quite  as  good  as  the  Hon.  Arthur  Hunt,  who  is  Lord 
Exington's  youngest  son,  and  Dalrymple  the  stock-broker  pays 
for  his  lives  at  pool  just  like  Captain  Duke,who  has  got  the 
V.C." 

Stettin — Hunt — Dalrymple — Duke  :  it  was  rather  clever  to 
get  four  names,  apparently  at  hap-hazard,  into  one  sentence. 
But  they  were  useless. 

"  Do  you  play  pool  ? "  said  she,  making  a  desperate  effort 
to  get  him  away  from  talking  of  his  club  acquaintances.  ( 

"  A  little — not  much,"  said  he,  modestly  :  the  fact  being! 
that  he  had  played  it  once,  and  had  lost  his  three  lives  in  about 
five  minutes. 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  she  continued — still  hurriedly — to  get 
him  away  from  the  club,  "used  to  say  that  that  was  the  only 
thing  worth  saving  money  for." 

"To  play  pool?" 


304  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  quickly,  for  she  was  a  trifle  confused. 
"He  used  to  say  that  if  life  were  like  a  game  at  pool,  and  you 
could  at  the  end  of  it  *  star '  and  come  to  life  again,  by  paying 
money,  then  it  would  be  worth  while  saving  up  money.  He 
could  not  understand  any  one  hoarding  money  for  any  other 
purpose.     That  is  the  phrase,  is  it  not,  *to  star.?'  " 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  accomplished  pool-player. 

He  was  not  thinking  of  pool  at  all,  but  of  this  unknown  and 
mysterious  friend  of  hers.  So  he  played  in  the  billiard-room 
at  the  Judaeum.  That  was  a  further  clue  ;  and  here,  indeed, 
young  Mr.  Dowse  was  getting  "  warm,"  as  children  say  at  blind- 
man's-buff,  although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  not  been 
talking  of  George  Miller  at  all. 

In  the  end  he  was  baffled — at  least,  so  far  as  that  day  was 
concerned.  He  did  know  George  Miller — as  club-men  know 
each  other — but  by  some  strange  accident  he  never  happened 
to  mention  the  name.  Moreover,  he  could  not  go  on  all  day 
talking  about  clubs,  especially  as  the  girl  made  valiant  efforts 
to  drag  the  conversation  elsewhere.  At  night,  in  communion 
with  himself  over  a  cigar,  he  had  to  confess  that  he  had  failed  ; 
and  that  he  knew  no  more  about  Miss  Main  now  than  when 
she  had  started  with  them  the  day  before,  except,  perhaps,  that 
it  was  more  manifest  than  ever  that  she  had  not  been  born  and 
brought  up  in  the  condition  of  life  which  she  now,  voluntarily 
or  involuntarily,  occupied. 

Violet  was  glad  to  return  to  London.  Mrs.  Dowse  had  been 
good  enough  to  say,  as  the  girl  left  on  the  Monday  morning, 
that  she  hoped  her  next  visit  would  be  a  longer  one  ;  and  the 
young  lady  had  returned  her  grateful  thanks,  without  making 
any  promise. 

She  returned  to  her  book-keeping  duties,  to  her  veiled  and 
hurried  flights  across  the  greater  thoroughfares,  to  the  silent 
and  monotonous  evenings  in  that  small  room,  herself  alone 
with  her  books,  and  her  memoranda,  and  her  dreams.  She 
was  growing  impatient  now ;  pinch  as  she  might,  her  savings 
increased  but  slowly.  Including  the  money  she  had  at  the 
outset,  she  was  now  possessed  of  something  like  thirteen 
pounds  ;  but  what  was  that  ?  She  could  not  set  out  on  her 
voyage  to  the  land  in  which  the  dead  come  to  life  again  with 
only  thirteen  pounds  in  her  pocket ;  she  could  not  even  get  to 
New  York,  which  she  had  come  to  consider  as  the  first  point 
to  be  gained. 

One  evening  Mrs.  Roberts  called  on  her :  there  was  a  roguish 
look  on  the  roseate  face ;  the  good  woman  was  determined  to 
be  facetiously  angry. 


AN  ENCO  UNTER.  305 

"  Miss  Main,"  said  she,  "  I  am  come  to  talk  seriously  to  you. 
I  have  been  speaking  with  your  landlady ;  she  says  you  eat 
nothing." 

"  I  am  sure  I  eat  as  much  as  any  one :  do  I  look  as  if  I  were 
starving  ?  "  said  the  girl,  cheerfully. 

"  You  are  not  looking  well  at  all.  You  may  not  know  it,  but 
you  are  not.  Now — you  will  excuse  me — but  I  said  I  would 
look  after  you,  whether  you  liked  it  or  not ;  and  now  if  you  are 
trying  to  save  a  little  money,  seeing  that  you  are  all  alone  like, 
what  I  say  is  this  :  don't  save  it  out  of  your  eating  and  drinking, 
but  ask  Mr.  Dowse  to  raise  your  salary :  that  is  what  I  say." 

The  girl  never  thought  of  denying  that  she  was  trying  hard 
to  save  money. 

"  I  could  not  do  that,  Mrs.  Roberts.  I  am  sure  I  am  very 
well  paid." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  The  Dowses  are  very  rich;  they  ought  to 
give  you  thirty  shillings  a  week  now  ;  and  they  would  do  it  in  a 
moment,  if  you  asked  them." 

"  I  could  not  ask  them." 

"  Then  I  will." 

Violet  was  irresolute.  On  the  one  hand,  she  was  exceeding- 
ly anxious  to  get  away  from  England ;  on  the  other,  she  had  a 
humiliating  consciousness  that  if  the  Dowses  gave  her  this  in- 
crease of  salary,  it  would  be  out  of  a  friendly  compassion. 

"  Then  there  is  another  thing,"  continued  the  impulsive  Mrs. 
Roberts,  smoothing  the  black  hair  over  her  shining  face.  "  My 
brother-in-law  spoke  to  me  about  it  yesterday.  He  wishes  to  in- 
troduce some  new  process  that  he  has  bought  from  an  Amer- 
ican, and  he  wants  to  get  one  or  two  good  subjects — to  make 
good  pictures,  you  know.  Now — would  you  mind  sitting 
to  him  some  forenoon — Mr.  Dowse  could  spare  you  for  an 
hour  or  two — and — and  you  might  as  well  have  a  five-pound 
note  as  not,  if  I  may  venture  to  tell  you  a  secret — " 

The  girl's  face  flushed,  but  she  was  not  angry. 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Roberts.     I  could  not  do  that." 

"  He  says  you  would  make  a  capital  subject — perhaps  with 
a  bit  of  fancy  costume — " 

"  I  really  could  not  do  that,"  the  girl  said,  quickly.  "  It 
is  very  kind  of  you,  however.  Let  us  talk  about  something 
else,  Mrs.  Roberts.     Do  you  know  any  body  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  In  New  York  ?  "  said  the  landlady,  with  a  sharp  glance. 
"  Do  you  think  of  going  to  New  York  ?  " 

The  question  was  so  direct  that  Violet  answered  it  unawares. 

"  Yes — by-and-by." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Roberts,  rather  anxiously.    "  And 


3o6  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  think  it  is  rather  dangerous 
for  a  young  lady  to  be  going  about  like  that — quite  alone — " 

"  Yes  ;  but  what  if  there  is  no  one  to  go  with  her  ?  "  said  the 
girl,  without  any  bitterness  at  all. 

"You  know,  Miss  Main,"  said  the  landlady,  earnestly,  "you 
would  soon  make  friends  enough,  if  you  cared  to ;  but  if  you 
go  from  one  town  to  another,  how  can  you  ?  " 

"  Does  your  brother-in-law  know  any  body  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  I  will'ask  him,  if  you  like ;  but  I  hope  you  won't  think  of 
going." 

Instead,  however,  of  asking  Mr.  Roberts  about  his  Amer- 
ican friends,  she  went  down  to  Mr.  Dowse  and  told  him  that 
Miss  Main  had  some  notion  of  going  to  New  York ;  and  that 
if  he  wished  to  retain  her  services  he  ought  at  once  to  raise  her 
salary.  Mr.  Dowse  had  not  the  least  objection  ;  although, 
he  said,  before  Miss  Main  had  formed  any  such  intentions 
she  might  have  made  complaint  to  himself.  Mrs.  Roberts  re- 
plied that  Miss  Main  had  made  no  complaint  to  any  one  ; 
and  from  that  moment  Miss  Main  received  a  very  handsome 
salary,  all  things  considered,  for  thirty  shillings  a  week. 

Now,  indeed,  her  small  hoard  of  savings  began  to  increase 
more  appreciably;  and  she  looked  forward  with  some  sad 
hope  to  the  time  when  she  should  be  released  from  the  fear 
which  more  or  less  haunted  her  while  she  remained  in  this 
country.     So  far,  all  her  plans  had  been  successful. 

So  far,  only.  One  evening,  as  she  was  hurrying  home,  she 
found  herself  stopped  by  a  man  who  would  not  get  out  of  her 
way.  With  some  indignation  she  looked  up ;  and  then  she 
could  scarcely  repress  a  cry  of  alarm.  Standing  before  her 
— a  trifle  pale,  perhaps,  but  not  much  agitated — she  found 
George  Miller,  who  merely  said  "  Violet  1  "  and  put  out  his 
hand. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

TIDINGS. 

He  did  not  at  all  betray  the  fear  that  might  have  been  expect- 
ed in  the  case  of  a  man  who,  believing  that  a  certain  woman 
has  been  dead  for  some  months,  suddenly  finds  her  standing 
before  him  in  the  streets.  The  terror  too  plainly  was  all  on  her 
side.  Even  by  the  light  of  the  gas-lamps,  and  even  through 
that  thick  veil,  he  saw  the  frightened  stare  of  her  eyes ;  and 


TIDINGS. 


1P1 


when  she  spoke,  it  was  with  a  hurried  and  harsh  voice  not 
like  that  of  the  Violet  of  old. 

"  Is  this  an  accident  ?"  she  demanded,  abruptly. 

"  N-no,"  he  stammered.  "  It  was  an  accident,  certainly, 
that  I  heard  from  young  Dowse  about  you  ;  that  is  to  say — " 

"  Does  he  know  who  I  am  ? "  she  again  demanded,  with  the 
same  abruptness.  Her  hands  were  clenched,  and  her  face 
deadly  pale. 

"  No,  he  does  not." 

"  Nor  any  one  ? " 

"  No  one  but  myself.  I  waited  to  make  sure.  Violet,  why 
have  you  done  all  this  t " 

She  paid  no  heed  to  him.  For  a  second  or  two  she  remained 
silent ;  then  she  said,  vehemently, 

"  No  one  knows  but  yourself.  You  must  give  me  your  word 
of  honor — you  must  swear  to  me — that  not  another  human 
being  shall  ever  know  ! " 

He  almost  retreated  a  step,  bewildered. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  in  a  protesting  way,  "  I  don't  understand 
you.  You — you  don't  know  how  sorry  we  have  all  been — and 
— and  you  expect  me  not  to  go  with  such  good  news — to  your 
father,  and  others  :  it  would  be  madness  ;  you  have  no  right  to 
inflict  such  pain  upon  them  merely  because  of  a  mad  freak ;  I 
don't  understand  it — " 

"  No,  and  you  never  would  understand  it,"  she  said,  bitterly, 
"  if  I  explained  it  to  you  a  hundred  times  over.  It  is  a  mad 
freak  !  You  think  I  was  pleasing  myself,  and  grieving  others 
unnecessarily  t  Well,  that  is  no  matter.  What  any  one  thinks 
of  me  is  no  matter  now." 

She  uttered  these  last  words  in  an  absent  way.  Even  he 
was  struck  by  the  tone  of  tragic  despair  in  them  ;  he  could  not 
understand  this  strange  thing. 

"  Come,  Violet,"  said  he,  "  you  have  made  a  great  mistake  ; 
but  nobody  will  think  any  thing  about  it — we  shall  all  be  so 
glad  to  get  you  back  again.  You  and  I  were  not  great  friends 
when  we  last  saw  each  other ;  but  now — well,  you  must  let  me 
share  in  the  happiness  you  will  cause  to  every  one.  No  one 
will  ask  you  any  questions  you  don't  wish  to  answer.  You  will 
have  every  thing  your  own  way.  You  won't  be  asked  to  do 
any  thing  you  don't  like." 

He  was  talking  almost  at  random,  for  he  was  very  much  ex- 
cited ;  and  behind  all  this  garrulous  speech  his  brain  was  busy 
working  with  all  sorts  of  other  speculations.  Was  it  possible 
she  run  away  because  she  had  found  herself  miserable  up  in 
the  North  ?     Was  it  the  prospect  of  her  marriage  with  James 


3oS  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

Drummond  that  was  the  cause  of  her  misery  ?  And  now- 
seeing  how  definitely  she  had  testified  to  her  repugnance — ^was 
it  not  possible  that  she  might  be  induced  to  revert  to  her  earlier 
friend,  who  now  stood  beside  her,  and  who  had  mourned  her 
loss  with  much  sincerity  of  feeling  ? 

"  You  don't  know — you  don't  know,"  she  said,  sadly,  in  an- 
swer to  all  these  solicitations  of  his.  "  You  talk  to  me  as  if  I 
were  a  spoiled  child,  who  had  run  away  from  home.  My  own 
way  ?  Was  there  any  thing  in  which  I  did  not  have  my  own 
way  while  I  lived  with  those  good  friends  }  It  was  not  that  at 
all.  I  was  the  cause  of  great  unhappiness  ;  and — and  I  loved 
them  ;  and — and  I  knew  it  was  better  for  them  and  every  one 
to  think  that  I  was  dead — " 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken,"  said  he,  earnestly,  yet  he  saw 
how  little  effect  his  words  had.  They  seemed  to  go  by  the  set- 
tled sorrow  of  that  pale  face.  "The  greatest  unhappiness 
they  could  have  known  was  your  death," 

"  That  will  all  pass  away,"  she  said.  "  I  considered  that. 
They  will  be  grieved  for  a  time — for  I  think  they  liked  me,  in 
spit  V  of — in  spite  of  every  thing ;  but  afterward  it  will  be  all 
right.  Now,"  she  added,  with  renewed  decision,  "  you  must 
give  me  that  promise." 

Bewildered  as  he  was,  he  had  still  sufficient  strength  left 
him  to  resist  that  demand,  and  he  did  so  boldly.  But  she 
was  fully  as  firm.  At  length  he  asked  to  be  allowed  some 
time  to  consider.  Would  she  give  him  till  the  following  even- 
ing, when  he  could  meet  her  again  .? 

"  No,"  said  she,  "you  must  promise  now,  absolutely.  And 
we  must  not  meet  again." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  make  such  a  demand,"  said  he, 
warmly.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  ought  to  let  your  father 
remain  in  ignorance  that  you  are  alive  ? " 

"  You  had  no  right  to  discover  my  secret,"  she  answered. 

"  Wait  a  minute — let  me  think,"  he  said,  resolved  not  to 
stumble  into  some  irretrievable  blunder. 

They  were  now  walking  up  and  down  Great  Marlborough 
Street — slowly  pacing  the  almost  deserted  pavement.  It  was 
only  when  they  passed  a  gas-lamp  that  he  could  catch  a 
glimpse  through  the  veil  of  that  pale  face  and  the  dark  eyes 
he  used  to  know.  Well,  as  they  walked  so,  in  silence.  Miller 
struggled  hard  to  keep  all  his  wits  about  him  in  this  serious 
crisis.  He  knew  the  decision  of  which  this  girl  was  capable  ; 
if  he  did  not  at  least  pretend  to  accede,  there  was  no  saying 
what  further  rashness  on  her  part  might  not  result.  His  first 
point  was  to  gain  time.     Supposing  he  did  promise,  he  might 


TIDINGS.  309 

talk  her  over  afterward.  Moreover,  by  yielding  so  far,  he 
might  induce  her  to  reconsider  that  resolve  of  hers  that  they 
should  not  meet  again.  He  was  an  acute  young  man,  after 
all ;  and  he  saw  what  an  advantageous  position  it  would  be 
for  him  to  become  her  only  friend.  He  would  make  a  show 
of  furthering  even  her  wildest  projects,  for  the  present. 

He  had  never  been  madly  in  love  with  this  girl ;  but,  so  far 
as  his  nature  allowed  him,  he  had  cherished  a  high  regard  for 
her ;  he  had  warmly  admired  her  good  looks  and  fine  figure  ; 
he  had  even  been  fascinated,  in  a  way,  by  her  high  courage 
and  frankness ;  and  his  imagination  had  at  one  time  painted 
pleasant  pictures  of  her  seated  at  the  head  of  his  dinner-tabfe. 
Now  once  more  that  fancy  flitted  before  his  mental  vision. 
She  was  alone ;  she  was  friendless ;  she  was  living  in  poor 
lodgings  (he  had  tracked  her  home  twice,  and  made  all  sorts 
of  inquiries  about  her,  before  actually  confronting  her)  ;  she 
was  a  woman,  and  surely  subject  to  persuasion. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  and  he  stopped  for  a  moment,  "  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honor  not  to  let  a  human  being  know — until 
you  give  me  leave.     Will  that  do  ?  " 

She  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  warmly.  She  was  grate- 
ful to  him. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  somewhat  sadly,  "before  we  part — 
and  you  must  never  seek  to  see  me  again — will  you  tell  me 
something  about — about  my  friends  ?  It  will  be  the  last  that 
I  shall  hear  of  them,  I  suppose." 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  with  more  impulse  than  was  common 
with  him,  "  I  can  not  bear  to  see  you  so  miserable — you  have 
not  deserved  it." 

"  I  am  not  miserable,"  she  said.  "  I  should  be  more  mis- 
erable if  I  were  causing  pain  to  those  whom  I  love.  And  as 
for  what  I  have  deserved — well,  who  can  tell  that  ?  I  don't 
see  any  one  who  gets  just  what  he  deserves.  I  know  those 
who  ought  to  have  every  thing  in  the  world,  because  they  lead 
such  noble  and  beautiful  lives — " 

He  knew  well  to  whom  she  was  referring. 

" — and  I  know  others — well,  you  may  call  them  unlucky, 
perhaps,  but  they  are  not  so  distressed  about  their  misery  as 
they  might  be — if  only  they  know — " 

A  sort  of  stifled  sob  arrested  his  attention.  He  had  not 
seen  that,  underneath  her  veil,  tears  had  been  stealthily  run- 
ning down  her  cheeks. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  sorry.  And  I  don't  under- 
stand why  you  should  be  unhappy.  Nobody  would  have 
thought  you  were  born  one  of  the  unlucky  ones." 


310  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

"  I  am  not  unhappy,"  she  asserted,  making  an  eilfart  to  re- 
gain her  composure.  "  Tell  me  how  my  father  is.  Is  he  in 
London  .?     Have  you  been  to  Euston  Square  lately  ?  " 

He  told  her  all  he  knew  of  the  North  family ;  and,  in- 
deed, he  was  pretty^  well  acquainted  with  them,  for  he  called 
upon  Lady  North  and  her  daughters  regularly.  Then  he 
paused. 

"  And  Mr.  Drummond — how  is  he  1 "  she  asked,  calmly,  as 
they  walked  along. 

"  He  has  been  very  ill." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  some  pain  had  throbbed 
through  her  heart. 

"  Is  he  ill  now?     Is  he  better?  " 

"  Well,"  said  he,  telling  an  untruth  that  he  had  deliber- 
ately prepared,  "  I  haven't  exactly  heard  lately.  It  was  rheu- 
matic fever,  I  believe ;  he  has  been  walking  a  great  deal  at 
night,  and  he  got  wet  once  or  twice — " 

"  But — but  you  say  he  is  better  ?  "  she  said,  and  there  was 
an  urgent  entreaty  in  her  voice. 

"  I  can't  exactly  tell  you,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  not 
been  over  there  since  they  returned  from  Scotland;  I  only 
hear  of  them  through  Lady  North.  But,  if  you  like,  I  will 
make  inquiries." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  she  said,  eagerly. 

"  And  I  can  come  and  tell  you." 

"  When — to-morrow  ?     Can  you  ask  to-morrow  ? " 

He  had  gained  his  point.     She  was  to  see  him  again. 

"  Yes,  I  can  make  inquiries  to-morrow,  and  let  you  know 
in  the  evening.  Where  shall  I  see  you  ?  Can  I  call  at  your 
lodgings — or  is  there  any  friend's  house — " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  quickly.  "  We  must  meet  here,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  At  the  same  hour  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  now  shall  I  walk  up  with  you  to  Titchfield  Street  ?  " 

She  stared  at  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  live  there  ? "  she  asked,  sharply. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of  apology,  "  I  had  to  make 
sure  before  I  spoke  to  you  :  I  was  anxious  not  to  make  any 
mistake — " 

*'  Good-bye,  then,"  said  she,  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 
"  You  know  you  have  given  me  your  word  of  honor  that  no 
human  being  shall  know  what  you  have  found  out." 
■    And  so  they  parted ;  but  she,  instead  of  going  straight  to 
her  lodgings  in  Great  Titchfield  Street,  walked  with  surpris- 


TIDINGS.  311 

ing  swiftness  to  Mrs.  Roberts's  hotel.  She  found  that  buxom 
dame  disengaged,  and  begged  a  few  minutes'  talk  of  her. 
When  they  were  in  a  room  together,  she  quickly  asked  her 
companion  to  tell  her  all  she  knew  about  rheumatic  fever. 
Was  it  dangerous  ?  Did  it  last  long  t  Was  it  painful  ?  What 
brought  it  on  .?     And  so  forth. 

Most  middle-aged  women  are  extremely  proud  of  their 
knowledge  of  diseases,  and  like  to  talk  about  them.  Mrs. 
Roberts,  wondering  not  a  little  at  the  extreme  anxiety  the 
girl  showed,  delivered  a  rambling  sort  of  lecture  on  rheumatic 
fever,  its  causes,  symptoms,  and  results. 

"  But — but  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  the  girl,  piteously, 
*'  that  it  always  leaves  behind  it  the  seeds  of  lung-disease  or 
heart-disease  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  not  always." 

"  One  might  recover  from  it,  and  become  quite  strong 
again  ?  "  she  said  eagerly. 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly." 

"  Especially  if  one  were  a  man  with  a  sound  constitution, 
who  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  walking  much  in  the 
open  air — very  much  indeed.  I  should  think,  now,  it  was 
quite  possible  for  a  man  to  recover  completely,  and  be  quite 
as  well  as  ever  ? " 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  the  landlady,  with  increasing  wonder. 

The  girl  sat  silent  for  a  moment  or  two. 

"  Is  it  so  very,  very  painful,  Mrs.  Roberts  ?  "  she  said,  sud- 
denly, with  her  hands  clasped  on  her  knees  before  her. 
"  What  can  you  do  ?  Is  there  any  thing  you  can  do  .?  Can 
you  buy  any  thing  for  one  who  has  that  fever — and  take  him 
any  thing — " 

Some  wild  notion  that  she  would  like  to  buy  all  the  world, 
if  only  that  would  mitigate  the  sufferings  of  her  friend,  crossed 
the  brain  of  this  millionaire,  this  Croesus,  who  had  fifteen 
pounds  sterling  in  her  trunk. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Roberts,  looking  at  her,  "  not  unless  he 
was  a  poor  man  ;  and  then  you  could  see  that  he  had  a  good 
doctor,  and  money  for  the  little  delicacies  an  invalid  needs." 

*'  He  is  not  that,"  she  said,  absently. 

A  short  time  thereafter  she  took  her  leave,  thanking  Mrs. 
Roberts  for  her  kindness.  She  walked  across  to  Great  Titch- 
field  Street,  and  entered  the  house.  As  she  was  going  up- 
stairs she  met  her  landlady's  son,  a  small  boy  of  ten  or  so, 
and  she  said  to  him, 

"  Tommy,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me.  Come  into 
my  room,  will  you  ?  " 


312  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

She  lighted  the  gas,  got  out  a  sheet  of  paper,  pen,  and  ink, 
and  placed  these  on  the  table. 

"  Now,  Tommy,"  said  she,  "  I  want  you  to  write  something 
for  me,  like  a  good  boy,  and  you  shall  have  tea  with  me  after- 
ward." 

Tommy  did  not  quite  understand,  but  he  obediently  sat 
down  at  the  table,  and  took  the  pen  in  hand. 

*'  Write  straight  across  the  page,  '  These  flowers.'  " 

"  These  flowers,"  the  boy  wrote. 

"  '  Are  sent  to  Mr.  Drummond.'  " 

"  Are  sent  to  Mr  Drummond,"  he  wrote  in  his  big,  sprawling 
hand. 

" '  From  one.' " 

"  From  one." 

"  '  Who  received.'  " 

"  Who  received." 

"  '  Great  kindness  from  him.'  "    • 

"  Great  kindness  from  him," 

She  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  behind  him  as  she  dictated  the 
words  ;  he  with  his  head  bent  over  the  paper.  As  she  did  not 
continue,  he  remained  waiting  for  a  second  or  two ;  and  then, 
as  she  was  still  silent,  he  turned  round.  He  saw  then  that 
she  had  fallen  back  on  the  couch,  and  was  lying  there  as  one 
dead,  her  face  of  a  ghastly  pallor,  her  arms  extended  by  her 
side.  The  small  boy  was  terribly  frightened,  and  he  ran  out 
of  the  room,  and  down  the  stairs,  until  he  found  his  mother. 

"  She's  dead  !  "  he  said. 

*'  Who  is  dead  ? "  the  woman  cried,  with  a  slight  scream. 

"  The  lady.     She  is  lying  dead  on  the  sofa." 

It  was  not  true,  however,  that  the  girl  was  dead.  No  such 
good  fortune  had  befallen  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI, 

IN   A   THEATRE. 

Miller  had  heard  quite  recently  about  Mr.  Drummond,  but 
he  thought  he  might  as  well  go  up  and  call  upon  the  Norths, 
just  on  the  chance  of  their  having  received  later  news.  So  he 
went  to  Euston  Square  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following 
his  interview  with  Violet,  and  there  he  was  received  by  Anatolia. 

"  Mamma  has  just  left,"  she  said,  "  to  go  and  see  how  Mr. 
Drummond  is.     I  fear  he  is  very  ill." 


IN  A  THEATRE. 


zn 


"  I  must  go  and  call  on  him  too,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
some  compunction.  "  We  were  not  very  good  friends  when  we 
parted  in  the  Highlands ;  but  one  must  not  mind  that  at  such 
a  time." 

"  That  was  a  terrible  thing,  that  visit  to  the  Highlands,"  said 
Anatolia,  with  a  sigh,  for  the  girl,  unlovely  as  she  was  of  face, 
had  a  tender  heart.  "  Poor  Violet !  We  never  knew  how 
fond  we  were  of  her  until  she  was  taken  away  from  us.  I  sup- 
pose it  is  always  so.  Papa  has  never  been  the  same  man  since  ; 
I  doubt  whether  he  will  ever  get  over  it.  He  was  fonder  of  her 
than  of  any  of  us.  And  Mr.  Drummond,  too.  Do  you  know 
what  his  sister  told  us  ? — that  no  one,  since  Violet  was  drowned, 
has  ever  seen  him  laugh." 

Miller  knew  that  his  face  was  flushed  with  embarrassment  ; 
he  got  away  from  that  dangerous  topic. 

"  It  is  true,  I  suppose,  that  he  brought  this  fever  on  by  walk- 
ing about  at  night  ?  " 

"  So  his  sister  says.  She  says  he  always  grew  restless  in  the 
evening,  just  about  the  hour  when  they  used  to  gather  round 
the  fire  :  that  was  when  Violet  was  living  with  them,  and  when 
they  used  to  begin  to  talk  and  chat.  And  he  could  not  remain 
quiet ;  he  would  suddenly  get  up,  and  put  on  his  boots,  and  go 
out — no  matter  whether  it  was  raining  or  not — and  they  never 
knew  at  what  hour  he  would  return  in  the  morning.  Some- 
times they  found  his  clothes  in  the  morning  soaked  through." 

"  Well,  that  was  enough  to  kill  any  body,"  Miller  said,  he 
being  a  sensible  young  man,  "  and  he  ought  to  have  known, 
that.  It  was  madness  to  go  on  like  that — I  can  not  understand 
it.  People  are  really  very  foolish  about  such  things.  You 
will  find  women — delicate  women — going  without  any  thing  to 
eat  from  ten  in  the  morning  till  half-past  seven  at  night,  simply 
because  they  won't  take  the  trouble  to  order  luncheon.  Now, 
Mr.  Drummond  must  have  known  that  he  was  inviting  an 
attack  of  illness  of  some  sort." 

"  It  was  very  strange  how  passionately  fond  of  these  people 
poor  Violet  was.  They  seemed  to  make  up  the  whole  of  the 
world  to  her.  And  it  was  so  sad  to  think  that  she  came  by  her 
death  through  their  kindness.  You  know,  that  is  what  troubles 
papa  so  much,  I  believe — the  thought  that  he  should  have 
allowed  her  to  go  away  with  them  by  herself ;  but  mamma  says 
to  him  that,  of  course,  it  was  a  pure  accident,  such  as  might 
have  happened  to  any  one,  in  any  circumstances.  I  believe 
Mrs.  Warrener  was  always  against  that  bathing." 

"  Still,  it  was  not  the  bathing,  you  know,"  he  said ;  and  then,, 
after  a  few  general  inquiries,  he  left. 


314  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

He  met  Violet  in  Great  Marlborough  Street,  and  he  could 
see  that  she  was  very  anxious  and  excited. 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  she  said,  eagerly. 

"  He  is  no  worse,  anyhow,"  said  the  young  man.  "  But 
look  here,  Violet.  I  have  been  thinking,  since  I  saw  you 
last  night,  that  we  can  not  walk  up  and  down  here — I  can  not 
talk  to  you  properly ;  and,  besides,  some  one  might  see  you. 
Now,  I  went  this  afternoon  and  got  a  box  at  the  Princess's 
— it  is  just  over  the  way ;  will  you  go  in  there  for  half  an 
hour  ? " 

The  proposal  had  something  ghastly  in  it,  from  which  she 
instinctively  recoiled.  To  go  to  a  theatre .? — she  who  was 
wedded  to  sorrow,  and  the  companion  of  sorrow. 

"  I  could  not  do  that,"  she  said,  almost  shuddering. 

"  But  look  here,  Violet ;  no  one  can  see  you  :  we  shall  be 
able  to  talk  freely;  and  you  need  not  pay  the  least  attention 
to  the  stage." 

"  They  will  see  me  as  we  go  in,"  she  said. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Your  veil  is  so  thick  that  no  one  would 
recognize  you,  unless  he  is  as  familiar  with  your  way  of  walk- 
ing as  I  am.  We  have  only  to  run  up  a  few  steps  of  a  stair, 
and  then  we  are  in  the  box,  shut  off  from  every  one,  and  you 
can  sit  comfortably  while  I  tell  you  all  the  news." 

She  hesitated  ;  but,  after  all,  it  seemed  the  lesser  of  the 
two  evils.  She  did  not  at  all  like  this  business  of  meeting  a 
young  man  by  appointment,  and  walking  up  and  down  a 
pavement  with  him  under  the  flashing  glare  of  the  gas-lamps. 
She  might  be  safer  in  the  theatre.  Besides,  the  excitement 
of  the  previous  evening  had  left  her  feverish  and  weak ;  at 
the  present  moment  she  felt  almost  too  tired  to  stand.  And 
so,  with  some  strange  fancies  and  recollections  running 
through  her  head,  she  suffered  herself  to  be  conducted  into 
this  theatre,  led  up  the  stairs,  and  into  the  box. 

The  performances  had  not  begun,  and  there  were  few  peo- 
ple present;  but  the  orchestra  were  pounding  away  at  a  noisy 
waltz,  as  if  they  would  drive  some  animation  into  the  deserted 
house.  How  the  great  violins  groaned,  and  the  little  one 
squealed,  and  the  brazen  instruments  trumpeted  out  their  stac- 
cato notes  !  To  her  there  was  a  horrible  dissonance  in  this 
music  ;  it  was  a  dance  of  death — the  laughter  of  skulls. 

And  in  the  midst  of  this  ghastly  noise  she  heard  all  that 
George  Miller  had  to  tell  her,  or,  rather,  all  he  considered  it 
prudent  to  tell  her.  He  did  not  consider  himself  bound  to 
tell  Violet  of  what  Mrs.  Warrener  had  told  Anatolia  North  ; 
Violet  had  not  sent  him  on  that  quest ;  it  was  none  of  his 


IN  A   THEATRE.  315 

business.  She  listened  witii  an  air  of  mute  misery  ;  her  first 
eager  anxiety  had  been  sadly  allayed. 

The  curtain  was  drawn  up ;  a  young  man  with  white  trous- 
ers and  his  hat  on  the  side  of  his  head  appeared  in  a  drawing- 
room,  and  began  to  flirt  with  a  pert-maid  servant,  who  was 
laying  the  breakfast-table.  Perhaps  it  is  only  in  theatircal 
drawing-rooms  that  young  gentlemen  wear  their  hats,  and 
that  people  take  their  meals  ;  but  no  matter.  The  dialogue 
was  excessively  funny.  The  gods  roared  at  it.  There  was 
a  joke  about  giving  a  bun  to  a  cat,  which  was  side-splitting. 

"  But  you  have  not  seen  him  to-day  ? "  said  Violet.  She 
was  sitting  behind  the  curtain  of  the  box,  her  head  bent 
down,  her  hands  tightly  folded. 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  not  been  over  there 
since  they  came  back  from  the  Highlands.  But  I  will  go 
over  to-morrow,  and  in  the  evening  I  could  tell  you." 

He  was  more  and  more  rendering  himself  necessary  to  her ; 
when  he  made  this  proposal,  she  scarcely  remembered  that  it 
would  involve  another  appointment. 

"  It  is  so  miserable  not  to  be  able  to  go  and  see  him  for 
one's  self :  I  would  give  my  life  just  to  shake  hands  with  him 
once — only  once,"  she  said,  with  a  gesture  of  despair.  "  Per- 
haps it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  gone  away  without 
hearing  of  his  being  ill.  I  can  do  nothing.  And  now  I  can- 
not go  away  until  I  know  he  is  better  ;  I  should  be  haunted 
with  fears  from  morning  till  night." 

"But  where  are  you  going,  Violet?"  said  he,  in  amaze- 
ment. There  was  something  about  the  tone  of  her  voice  that 
struck  him. 

"  I  am  going  away,"  she  said,  simply;  "  away  from  England, 
and  from  every  one  that  I  ever  knew,  so  that  I  shall  remain 
to  them  as  if  I  were  really  dead.  When  I  die,  they  will  never 
hear  of  it.  When  I  leave  England,  you  too  must  think  of  me 
as  one  that  is  dead." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  crash  on  the  stage  that  startled 
him.  The  young  man  in  the  light  trousers,  to  escape  from 
the  broom  of  the  maid-servant,  has  jumped  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  apparently  fallen  through  a  conservatory.  There 
was  a  great  smashing  of  glass  ;  and  the  people  in  the  gallery 
again  screamed  with  laughter.     The  fun  was  too  rich. 

"  Oh,  that  is  folly,"  he  said ;  but  he  thought  it  prudent  not 
to  argue  with  her  just  at  that  moment.  He  would  rather  en- 
deavor to  entangle  her  into  relations  with  himself  ;  and  just 
then  a  happy  notion  occurred  to  him. 

"Look  here,  Violet.     It  is  only  half-past  seven.     If  you 


3i6  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

are  so  anxious  to  know  how  he  is,  what  do  you  say  to  driving 
over  there  with  me,  and  I  will  go  in  and  ask  ?  I  could  get 
you  a  hired  carriage  in  about  twenty  minutes — that  would  be 
so  much  more  comfortable  than  a  cab.  You  will  have  to  go 
home  first,  in  any  case — to  have  your  tea  or  dinner,  or  what- 
ever you  have.     Then  I  could  call  for  you." 

It  was  a  strong  temptation ;  she  was  so  eager  to  have  au- 
thentic news  of  her  friend  in  his  trouble.  And  then  there 
was  some  sort  of  fascination  in  the  idea  of  being  near  him — 
of  seeing  once  more  the  familiar  small  house — of  looking, 
even  from  the  outside,  at  rooms  which  she  had  learned  to 
love.     Yes,  she  would  go. 

"But  you  must  not  call  for  me,"  she  said.  "At  eight 
o'clock  I  will  be  at  the  corner  of  Oxford  Street  and  Great 
Portland  Street :  will  that  do  ? " 

"  Certainl)^" 

They  left  the  box.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  artists  on 
the  stage  were  not  insulted :  these  two  who  were  going  away 
had  no  intention  of  expressing  their  disapproval  of  that  mirth- 
provoking  performance. 

Punctually  at  eight  she  appeared  at  the  appointed  place ; 
and  she  had  not  to  wait  more  than  a  minute  or  so. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  she  said,  when  she  got  inside, 
"  that  I  must  not  go  near  the  house.  Will  you  tell  the  man 
to  drive  up  Denmark  Hill,  and  put  me  out  at  Champion  Hill } 
I  will  wait  for  you  there." 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  like,  Violet,"  said  he.  "  But  I 
really  don't  know,  mind  you,  whether  I  am  right  in  becoming 
a  party  to  all  this  secrecy.  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in 
my  life.     I  can't  understand  it." 

She  did  not  answer  that  there  were  many  things  which  even 
Mr.  Miller,  with  all  his  shrewdness  and  his  knowledge  of  club 
life,  could  not  understand.     She  answered,  simply, 

"  You  have  given  me  your  promise.  I  hope  you  are  not 
considering  whether  you  would  be  justified  in  breaking  that  ? " 

"  Oh  no,  not  at  all,"  said  he,  quickly.  "  Of  course,  you 
have  my  promise.  That's  quite  right.  But  really,  you  know, 
Violet—" 

"  Would  you  rather  not  drive  me  over  to  Champion  Hill  ?  " 
she  said.  "  If  it  is  any  trouble  to  you — if  you  think  you  ought 
not  to  go — pray  stop  the  man  at  once.  I  can  walk  back  to 
my  lodgings." 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  and  there  was  a  friendly  smile  on  his  face, 
"you  are  just  the  same  as  ever.  Do  you  remember  one  drive 
we  took  together,  long  ago  ?     Do  you  remember  proposing  to 


IN  A  THEATRE.  317 

Stop  the  man  before  we  had  been  ten  minutes  on  the  way? 
You  were  always  proud  and  quick.  Now,  you  know  I  will  do 
any  thing  to  serve  you.  It  was  in  your  own  interest  I  re- 
monstrated with  you.  -Why  should  you  go  away.?  Why 
shouldn't  you  tell  your  friends  1  They  would  be  delighted  to 
forgive  you  for  all  the  grief  they  have  suffered  in  the  gladness 
of  seeing  you  again." 

The  gentleness  and  friendliness  of  his  speech  touched  her; 
but  she  only  said,  in  a  sad  and  resigned  way, 

"You  do  not  know  all  that  drove  me  to  take  that  step;  it 
is  no  use  speaking  of  that  now.  Yes,  I  remember  that  drive — 
it  seems  a  long  time  ago ;  but  I  always  think  of  the  day  as  a 
white  one,  the  air  was  so  clear  and  full  of  light.  What  chil- 
dren we  were — quarreling  about  nothing,  and  enjoying  the 
mischief  of  running  away !  My  father  was  very  good  to  you, 
in  overlooking  that  escapade.  I  think  he  was  amused  at  the 
audacity  with  which  you  went  and  told  him  all  about  it.  You 
did  not  see  him  to-day? " 

"No." 

"  Poor  papa  !  " 

She  remained  silent  for  some  time  ;  and  by-and-by  they  got 
down  to  Westminster  Bridge.  It  was'the  first  time  she  had 
seen  the  river  since  her  visit  to  Scotland.  Now  a  faint  moon 
light  showed  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  the  Embankment, 
and  the  broad  stream  in  hues  of  blue  and  gray  ;  and  there 
were  far  lines  of  gas-lamps  burning  like  threaded  jewels  of 
gold  ;  and  there  were  rich,  soft  shadows  lying  along  the  houses 
and  wharves  of  the  Surrey  side. 

"  I  have  seen  the  river  so  often  like  that ;  it  is  a  beautiful 
sight,"  she  said,  absently.  She  was  thinking  that,  in  the 
distant  country  to  whiclj  she  was  going,  she  would  be  able  to 
conjure  up  this  picture  of  blue-gray  mist  and  golden  stars. 

When  they  drove,  too,  out  by  Kennington  church,  and  so 
onward  to  Denmark  Hill,  she  seemed  to  be  renewing  acquaint- 
ance with  scenes  once  familiar  to  her,  and  doing  so  only  to 
bid  them  good-bye.  Perhaps  she  was  looking  at  them  for 
the  last  time  :  or  could  she  not  come  over  once  more — just 
on  the  eve  of  her  departure — to  leave  those  flowers,  and  the 
rudely  written  message,  at  the  threshold  of  the  house  of  her 
friend  and  her  beloved  one,  as  a  mute  token  of  farewell  ? 

Under  the  great  trees,  up  here  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  there 
was  abundant  shadow,  and  she  got  out  from  the  carriage. 

"  Sha'n't  you  be  afraid  to  remain  here  all  by  yourself  ? " 
said  he. 

"  Not  at  all." 


3i8  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  may  be  some  time — " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  quickly.  "  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  see 
him,  and  tell  me  how  he  looks,  and  what  he  speaks  about. 
I  will  wait  any  time — I  will  wait  an  hour,  if  that  is  necessary ; 
and  indeed  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you." 

He  left  her,  and  she  continued  pacing  up  and  down,  under 
the  trees,  in  the  chill  night.  Then  she  walked  along  to  the 
top  of  Green  Lane ;  and,  behold  !  before  her  stretched  the 
broad  valley,  filled  with  the  gray  mist  of  the  moonlight,  and 
silent  as  death.  The  old  refrain  came  back  to  her,  to  deepen 
the  sore  pain  at  her  heart :  "  Far  away — in  the  beautiful 
meadows — is  the  house  of  my  home.  Many  a  time  I  went 
out  from  it  into  the  valley.  O  you  beautiful  valley — I  greet 
you  a  thousand  times.     Farewell — farewell !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AN    EPITAPH. 

Mrs.  Warrener  came  into  the  room  looking  pale  and 
tired.  She  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning — that  was  for 
Violet.  And  when  she  saw  this  young  man  standing  before 
her,  she  was  for  a  moment  or  two  deeply  moved.  It  was  in 
very  different  circumstances — which  his  presence  now  in- 
stantly recalled  to  her — that  they  had  last  met. 

He  made  no  apology  to  her  for  not  having  visited  them  be- 
fore ;  he  felt  that  any  personal  matter  of  his  own  was  too 
trivial  to  need  mention.  He  said  how  sorry  he  was  to  have 
heard  that  her  brother  was  ill ;  and  how  was  he  now  ? 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  the  small,  pale,  anxious-eyed 
woman.  "  He  is  just  about  the  same  this  evening.  He  is 
very  low  indeed ;  but  the  doctor  says  he  must  have  had  a 
fine  constitution,  and  he  is  making  a  good  fight.  You  see,  he 
brought  himself  down  so  by  these  walkings-out  at  night ;  and 
we  could  not  prevent  him — " 

"  Of  course,  there  is  no  actual  danger  ?  "  said  the  young 
man. 

*'  I  think  not  now,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  think  he  is  well 
on  the  turn  ;  but  his  mind  wanders  a  good  deal  yet.  Well, 
well  !  some  sad  changes  have  taken  place  since  we  last  saw 
you,  Mr.  Miller." 

The  little  woman  sighed ;  it  was  not  alone  of  her  brother 
she  was  thinking. 


AA'  EPITAPH.  319 

"Yes,"  said  he,  rather  uncomfortably.  He  hoped  she 
would  not  speak  about  Violet. 

"  It  is  only  quite  recently,"  she  continued,  "  that  I  have 
discovered — well,  perhaps  there  is  no  use  talking  about  it 
now.  What  might  have  been,  if  our  poor  Violet  had  lived — 
there  is  not  much  use  in  talking  about  that  now.  But  it 
made  me  very  unhappy  at  the  time,  to  see  you  and  her  at 
cross-purposes.  I  could  see  that  she  was  greatly  troubled  by 
it.     She  is  at  rest  now." 

"  Well,  I  must  not  take  you  away  from  the  sick-room,  Mrs. 
Warrener,  if  you  are  attending  upon  your  brother,"  said  Mr. 
Miller. 

"  I  am  not  at  present,"  she  said — som.ehow  she  seemed  to 
be  glad  of  the  young  man's  presence  ;  he  was  a  link  between 
her  and  happy  times.  "The  nurse  has  gone  in.  Lady 
North  was  over  here  to-day.  They  have  given  up  all  hope 
of  finding  poor  Violet's  body.  If  she  were  alive,  I  know 
where  the  poor  girl  would  be  at  this  moment.  And  how  my 
brother  talks  about  her  in  his  rambling  fancies — he  sees  her 
everywhere,  he  connects  her  with  every  thing.  Yes,  I  made 
a  great  mistake  about  that ;  I  had  no  idea  his  love  for  the 
girl  was  any  thing  beyond  a  friendly  affection ;  but  even  if 
she  had  lived,  what  then  1  The  only  thing  I  am  sorry  for 
now  is  that  you  and  she  had  not  mad-e  up  your  misunder- 
standing before  the  end." 

When  she  said  she  knew  where  Violet  would  be  at  that  mo- 
ment, supposing  the  girl  were  alive,  a  sort  of  superstitious 
fear  overcame  him.  He  could  almost  imagine  her  listening 
outside  the  window  to  hear  the  news  of  her  friend.  If  some 
one  had  knocked  at  the  door  just  then,  he  would  have  jumped 
up  and  said,  "  There  is  Violet !  " 

"  I  suppose  I  could  not  see  him  for  a  minute  or  so,"  he  said, 
for  he  was  determined  to  execute  his  commission  thoroughly. 

"  Oh  dear,  yes,"  she  said,  at  once.  "  But  I  am  afraid  he 
will  not  recognize  you.  The  delirium  has  been  rather  bad 
this  evening,  though  he  is  not  nearly  so  weak  as  he  was.  Will 
you  please  leave  your  hat  here  ? — a  black  hat  always  sets  him 
off  into  fancies  about  undertakers." 

He  followed  her  into  the  sick-room ;  and,  as  they  entered, 
the  nurse  left.  There  was  no  need  for  the  young  man  to  walk 
so  noiselessly ;  the  long,  outstretched  figure  on  the  bed  took 
no  apparent  notice  of  his  presence.  But  young  Miller  went 
over  to  the  bed,  and  took  up  one  of  the  thin,  bony  hands, 
and  said, 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  getting  better,  Mr.  Drummond." 


320  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

There  was  no  languid  indifference  and  apathy  about  this  pa- 
tient. The  cheeks  were  a  trifle  hollow,  but  they  were  flushed 
as  if  with  some  excitement :  and  there  was  a  brilliant  light  in 
the  large,  restless,  scrutinizing  eyes ;  and,  as  George  Miller 
spoke,  an  amused  smile  came  to  the  thin  and  pale  lips. 

"  You  are  young  Miller,  I  do  believe  t "  said  Mr.  Drum- 
mond,  looking  curiously  at  his  visitor. 

"  Yes.  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  have  got  over  the  worst  now," 
said  the  young  man,  saying  what  every  one  is  supposed  to  say 
to  an  invalid.  "  You  must  pull  yourself  together  now,  and 
fight  the  illness  right  out  of  the  house." 

"  I  had  a  strange  dream  about  you,  young  Miller,"  said  the 
sick  man,  not  heeding  the  counsel,  "  a  very  strange  dream 
about  you  to-day,  and  about  your  cigars.  Do  you  remember 
that  big  cigar  that  stretched  across  the  valley  from  Sydenham 
Hill  all  the  way  to  Grove  Park ;  and  you  couldn't  have  held 
it  up  except  for  the  moonlight  helping  you — that  was  when 
Violet  and  the  rest  of  us  were  walking  on  the  ice,  and  you 
said  that  Chamounix  was  nothing  to  it.  Do  you  know  that 
stamping  out  the  fire  in  the  end  of  that  cigar  was  murder — 
the  poor,  piteous,  small  red  eye  that  you  have  to  hunt  for, 
and  it  comes  through  the  black  again,  and  you  kill  it  and 
stamp  on  it:  that  is  murder.  These  dreams  trouble  one  so! 
and  after  you  have  crept  and  crept  all  round  the  headland — 
creeping  flat  through  the  brackens — and  you  signal  Jimmy  to 
bring  the  boat  along — then  all  the  curlew  get  up,  and  a  great 
heron  rises,  with  its  long  legs  hanging  down  in  the  air;  then 
just,  as  you  have  him  covered  with  the  gun,  and  you  are  trying 
to  pull  the  trigger,  and  the  trigger  won't  go  off,  then  down 
goes  the  heron  into  the  water,  and  dives  like  a  merganser, 
and  you  never  see  him  again.  The  water  becomes  quite 
blank  then  ;  and  you  may  walk  day  after  day  along  the  rocks, 
and  you  will  see  nothing  at  all  there ;  you  will  only  hear  the 
plashftg  of  the  waves,  and  they  know,  but  they  will  not  give 
up  the  secret.  It  is  a  terrible  thing,  the  silence  of  the  shores, 
just  after  day-break,  if  you  are  alone,  and  looking  and  looking, 
and  finding  nothing  but  the  continual  noise  of  the  waves." 

His  eyes  had  wandered  away  by  this  time  ;  but  he  again  di- 
rected his  attention  to  his  visitor,  and  seemed  to  make  some 
effort  to  arouse  himself. 

"Young  Miller,  why  don't  you  sit  down?  Sarah,  have  we 
no  wine  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  would  rather  not  have  any,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  You  must  try  and  get  rid  of  those  dreams,  Mr.  Drum- 
mond.     Don't  pay  any  attention  to  them.     You  know  Christ- 


AjV  epitaph.  321 

mas  is  coming  on  now;  and  you  must  get  well  and  strong,  to 
have  a  merry  Christmas  party." 

"  Is  he  coming  along  ? "  he  said,  absently.  "  The  tall  white 
man  in  the  winding-sheet.  That  is  a  ghastly  sort  of  figure  to 
come  as  a  guest  to  a  party ;  and  there  is  snow  about  him,  and 
he  walks  through  the  night — through  the  night,  and  then  the 
stars  are  as  silent  as  the  waves  are,  and  they  will  not  give  up 
the  secret  to  you  :  you  may  cry  to  them,  and  stretch  out  your 
hands  to  them — it  is  no  use  at  all — " 

His  sister  came  over  to  him,  and  placed  her  cool  hand 
gently  on  his  forehead. 

"  James,"  she  said,  "  You  must  not  talk  any  more  now. 
You  must  be  still." 

He  turned  to  his  visitor,  whom  he  did  not  seem  to  recog- 
nize now. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  if  I  have  been  talking  too  much. 
It  is  an  old  failing  of  mine — I  hope  you  will  forgive  me. 
There  was  one  once  who  used  to  like  to  listen  to  me — at 
least  I  thought  so — she  is  gone  away  now :  perhaps  I  am  too 
talkative  to  strangers." 

He  remained  silent  for  a  short  time,  but  only  for  a  short 
time ;  for  the  restless  fancy  that  drove  him  from  topic  to  top- 
ic, from  one  speculation  to  another,  in  his  moments  of  health 
and  sanity,  was  rendered  all  the  more  morbidly  active  by  this 
disease. 

"  Sarah,"  said  he,  quickly,  "  I  want  you  to  read  me  that 
epitaph — I  think  there  is  something  wrong  in  it — I  am  sure 
there  is.  I  am  sorry  to  give  you  the  trouble  ;  but  I  must  fin- 
ish it  to-night,  you  know." 

To  humor  him,  she  took  down  a  card  that  he  had  nailed  up 
over  the  mantel-piece.  It  was  an  epitaph  on  the  whole  race 
of  publishers.  She  read  it  slowly  ;  and  from  time  to  time  he 
corrected  her  accentuation  of  the  Latin. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said,  dreamily,  "  it  is  all  wrong.  That  was 
not  what  I  meant  at  all.  Now,  Sarah,  take  a  pen  and  some 
paper,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  to  write  down." 

"  No,  no,  James,"  his  sister  remonstrated ;  "  another  time 
will  do  very  well.     You  must  be  still  now." 

"  It  will  only  take  a  minute,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  have  it  all 
ready  ;  I  have  dreamed  it.      I  knew  the  other  was  all  wrong." 

"  Leave  it  over  till  to-morrow,"  said  young  Miller,  gently ; 
but  the  sick  man  paid  no  attention  to  him. 

So  Mrs.  Warrener  got  the  sheet  of  paper,  and  sat  down  at 
the  small  table. 

"  What  shall  I  write,  then,  James  ?  " 
21 


322  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  It  is  the  epitaph ;  but  not  in  Latin  ;  for  it  ought  to  be 
known  and  read  by  every  one.  Write  now — are  you  ready, 
Sarah  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  The  sea  that  bore  her  away  from  us  was  not  half  as  clear 
as  her  clear  and  beautiful  soul." 

He  paused  till  the  words  were  down  ;  and  then  he  went  on, 
his  look  still  directed  toward  her. 

"  '  And  the  dark  softness  of  her  eyes  was  large,  and  mild, 
and  generous,  like  the  darkness  of  the  night  when  it  hushes 
the  poor  tired  children  of  the  world  to  sleep.  Now  she  has 
gone,  to  some  of  us  it  seems  as  if  the  very  light  of  our  life 
had  gone  too — '  Sarah,  why  do  you  cry  t  The  bitterness  of 
it  is  past  now ;  at  least,  if  it  is  not,  it  must  be  hidden  ;  and 
we  must  put  a  brave  face  on  it ;  the  world  shall  have  no  part 
in  the  secret,  even  if  it  should  lie  like  a  fire  in  your  bosom, 
and  burn,  and  burn,  and  drive  you  out  into  the  cold  night-air. 
I  think  it  was  last  night  I  was  out  ....  and  there  was  a 
voice  I  could  hear  somewhere  in  the  dark — but  it  was  far 
and  far  away.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  what  it  said  ? — '  Oh, 
Willie's  gane  to  Melville  Castle,  boot  and  spurs  and  a' ' — 
but  it  was  far  away,  and  there  was  no  laughing  in  the  song. 
But  they  had  a  great  deal  of  laughter  in  these  songs  ;  and  in 
the  old  time  lovers  were  gay  and  joyous,  and  even  when  he 
was  parting  from  his  sweetheart,  what  did  the  jovial  fellow 
say.? 

"  Gae  bring  to  me  a  pint  o'  wine, 
And  fill  it  in  a  silver  tassie, 
That  I  may  drink,  before  I  go, 
A  service  to  my  bonny  lassie  ! ' 

That  was  the  gallant  way  of  saying  good-bye  ;  but  it  is  all 
changed  now — the  poor  trembling  girl  stands  in  a  railway- 
station,  and  the  whistle  of  the  engine  as  the  train  leaves  seems 
to  rend  her  heart  in  two  ;  and  the  young  man,  he  stands  on 
the  deck  of  the  steamer,  and  as  the  engines  begin  to  throb  he 
can  see  nothing  of  his  sweetheart  on  shore  for  the  tears  rush- 
ing into  his  eyes.  The  world  is  very  full  of  all  this  misery. 
I  don't  know  how  the  old  people  in  the  old  times  wrote  those 
merry  songs.  But  there  is  an  end  to  it — there  is  an  end  ;  and 
the  cruel  pain  in  the  heart  will  leave  ;  and  the  sound  of  the 
waves  will  no  longer  haunt  one — there  will  be  peace  and 
sleep." 

He  turned  his  head  away,  and  lay  still;  George  Miller 
seized  the  opportunity  of  slipping  out  of  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Warrener  followed  him,  the  nurse  returning  to  her  duties. 


AN  EPITAPH.  323 

"  It  is  very  sad,"  said  Miller,  casting  about  for  some  phrase 
of  consolation  ;  "  but  he  does  not  appear  to  be  suffering  much 
pain." 

*'  Not  now  ;  at  one  time  it  was  dreadful.  Did  you  notice 
how  these  fancies  about  poor  Violet  run  through  all  he  says  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  strange — and  very  sad.  Well,  I  hope, 
Mrs.  Warrener,  to  hear  better  news  when  I  call  next." 

He  bid  her  good-bye,  and  went  out  into  the  chill  December 
air.  The  moonlight  was  clearer  up  here  than  it  had  been 
over  the  Thames  valley :  in  a  few  minutes  after  leaving  Mr. 
Drummond's  house  he  descried  Violet  slowly  pacing  along 
the  empty  thoroughfare.  When  he  reached  her,  her  anxiety 
had  so  tortured  her  that  she  was  unable  to  ask  him  the  sim- 
plest question.  She  only  stared  at  his  face,  as  if  she  would 
read  there  what  news  he  had  to  bring. 

"  He  is  very  ill,  no  doubt,"  said  he,  "  but  not  in  danger — 
not  actually  in  danger,  you  know,  Violet.  He  wanders  a  lit- 
tle, you  know,  as  a  feverish  person  will,  when  he  speaks  to 
you  ;  but  he  suffers  not  much  pain  now,  and  I  hope  he  has 
got  through  all  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  she,  slowly,  "  that  he  is  delirious  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes—" 

*'  And  there  is  nothing  one  can  do — nothing  !  "  she  said, 
almost  wildly.  "  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  have  sympathy 
with  one  who  is  ill  ? — it  is  this,  that  if  you  could  save  him  a 
single  pang,  you  would  gash  your  wrist  through  with  a  knife; 
and — and  I  would  do  that !  Oh,  it  is  terrible — terrible  ! 
Here  we  are  standing  here — in  a  beautiful  night — every  thing 
quiet  and  pleasant,  and  both  of  us  well  and  strong  ;  and  there 
he  is  lying  with  that  deadly  thing  trying  to  poison  him,  and 
we  are  quite  helpless !  I  flung  away  my  friends,  my  home, 
every  thing  I  cared  for,  to  save  him  anxiety  and  care  ;  now 
his  very  life  is  in  danger,  and  I  can  do  nothing  at  all  ! " 

She  was  speaking  in  a  strangely  excited  way;  but  he  did 
not  fail  to  take  note  of  these  involuntary  confessions.  Per- 
haps his  own  hopes  were  rather  dashed  for  the  time  ;  but  he 
would  wait  and  see. 

"  It  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  Violet,"  said  he.  "  I  don't 
suppose  his  life  is  actually  in  danger  now  ;  and — and  he  does 
not  suffer  much  pain  ;  and  altogether  you  must  hope  for  the 
best." 

She  seemed  scarcely  to  listen  to  him.  She  stepped  into 
the  carriage,  and  took  her  seat  in  silence,  and  in  silence  she 
was  driven  across  the  great  world  of  London.  His  attempts 
to  interest  her  in  various  alien  matters  met  with  but  little 


324  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

success  :  there  was  a  great  care  at  her  heart ;  and  the  shadow 
of  it  clouded  her  brow  and  troubled  her  anxious  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

PREPARATIONS    FOR    FLIGHT. 

Mr.  George  Miller  had  been  plunged  into  -all  this  busi- 
ness with  much  suddenness,  and  had  had  but  little  time  to 
reflect.  When,  however,  he  came  to  regard  his  position  with 
care  and  deliberation,  the  longer  he  looked  at  it,  the  less  he 
liked  it.  At  first  he  had  considered  it  to  be  one  of  great  ad- 
vantage. He  alone  knew  of  this  girl's  whereabouts — of  the 
very  fact  of  her  existence,  even  ;  what  more  natural  than  that 
she,  homeless,  friendless,  and  penniless,  should  cling  to  this 
one  friend,  who,  in  due  course  of  time,  would  be  proud  to 
lead  the  truant  back  as  his  wife  ?  He  soon  came  to  see  that 
these  speculations  were  useless.  To  her  he  was  merely  a 
messenger,  a  go-between.  She  was  exceedingly  grateful  to 
him  ;  but  it  was  only  because  he  brought  her  tidings  of  James 
Drummond.  All  her  interest,  her  very  life,  seemed  to  be 
wrapped  up  in  this  man. 

Now,  George  Miller,  being  a  cool-headed,  shrewd,  sensible 
sort  of  a  fellow,  when  he  saw  that  matters  stood  thus,  began 
to  look  with  some  anxiety,  and  even  annoyance,  on  the  awk- 
ward responsibility  he  had  incurred.  It  was  all  very  well  for 
him  to  promise  not  to  reveal  Violet's  secret;  for  then  he 
only  wanted  to  gain  time,  that  so  he  might  talk  her  over. 
But  she  would  not  even  allow  him  to  argue  the  matter  with 
her.  So  it  came  to  this,  that  he  was  to  be  made  an  accom- 
plice in  an  act  of  cruel  folly  the  like  of  which  he  had  never 
heard  before.  That  he  "  could  not  understand,"  was  to  him 
a  sufficient  condemnation  of  Violet's  resolve.  He  did  not 
see  the  use  of  all  this  mystery.  She  herself  was  obviously 
unhappy  in  going  away.  Why  could  she  not,  like  a  reasona- 
ble person,  get  into  a  four-wheeled  cab,  drive  up  to  Euston 
Square,  declare  herself  to  her  father,  and  have  a  comfortable 
luncheon,  instead  of  sitting  all  day  in  a  cold  shop  .'*  But  no ; 
she  would  not  even  hear  him  speak  of  it.  She  had  given  him, 
on  their  first  and  second  meetings,  some  vague  hints  as  to 
the  causes  of  her  conduct ;  beyond  that,  nothing.  And  while 
he  was  inclined  to  become  impatient  over  what  he  consid- 
ered to  be  her  folly,  there  were  times  at  which  he  did  not 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  325 

even  try  to  protest,  for  he  was  overawed  by  the  tragic  despair 
of  her  face. 

If  George  Miller  had  no  love  of  myster}^,  Mr.  Edward  Dowse 
had  plenty  ;  and  despite  Miller's  reiterated  assertions  that  the 
Miss  Main  in  that  Regent  Street  place  was  not  the  Miss  Main 
whom  he  had  met  in  by-gone  years,  young  Dowse  still  clung  to 
the  fancy  that  Miller  must  know  something  about  the  girl. 

"  Well,  she  knows  somebody  in  this  club,"  said  young  Dowse, 
doggedly. 

George  Miller  was  vexed  and  angry  to  have  Violet  spoken 
of  at  a  club,  even  under  the  name  of  Miss  Main  ;  but  he  dared 
not  show  his  vexation. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  said  he,  lightly. 

"  From  the  way  she  looked  whenever  the  club  was  men- 
tioned. Oh,  I  am  sure  of  it ;  and  I  shall  find  out,  sooner  or 
later." 

"  Write  a  poem  about  it.  Dowse  ;  write  a  poem  about  it," 
said  George  Miller. 

This  was  sarcasm.  Miller  had  a  fine  contempt  for  a  man 
who  could  sit  down  in  the  day-time  and  bother  his  brains  with 
piecing  rhymes  together.  Indeed,  he  did  not  at  all  care  for 
the  society  of  Mr.  Edward  Dowse.  He  did  not  like  to  be  seen 
in  the  club  with  a  man  who  wore  a  Byronic  collar,  and  combed 
his  ridiculously  profuse  hair  down  over  his  face. 

Perhaps  there  was  a  spice  of  mischief  in  the  proposal  which 
Edward  Dowse  placed  before  his  mother,  to  the  effect  that 
she  should  ask  Miss  Main,  and  that  he  should  ask  Mr.  George 
Miller,  to  come  down  to  the  Laurels  on  the  same  day,  with- 
out previous  intimation  of  the  meeting. 

"  No,  no,  Teddy,"  his  mother  said,  good-naturedly.  "  That 
is  all  your  romantic  notions.  You  would  find  them  strangers 
to  each  other,  and  Mr.  Miller  might  not  like  to  meet  at  din- 
ner a  young  lady  whom  he  might  afterv/ard  see  at  the  desk  in 
Regent  Street.  Not  that  that  is  against  her,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  I  am  sure.  I  like  the  girl ;  she  is  most  lady- 
like—" 

"  Oh,  you  know  quite  well,  mother,  she  was  not  brought  up 
to  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Teddy,  if  you  like,"  con- 
tinued his  mother.  "  I  will  ask  her  to  spend  Christmas-day 
here.     The  poor  girl  must  be  dull  in  her  lodgings." 

Well,  Teddy  approved  of  that.  He  had  not  the  slightest 
notion  in  the  world  of  falling  in  love  with  Miss  Main  ;  but 
her  presence  in  this  remote  little  country-house  would  be  an 
agreeable  break  to  its  monotony.     Who  could  tell,  too,  but 


326  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

that  some  element  of  the  unexpected  might  be  introduced  into 
their  Christmas  festivities  by  this  mysterious  guest  ?  On 
Christmas-night  thoughts  and  fancies  go  far  away ;  perhaps, 
in  a  sudden  moment  of  confidence,  she  might  be  induced  to 
tell  them  her  story.  That  would  tend  to  redeem  the  common- 
placeness  of  the  evening :  a  Christmas  dinner  consisting  only 
of  roast  turkey,  Champagne,  and  plum-pudding  was  a  poor 
affair. 

But  Mr.  Dowse,  senior,  who  was  commissioned  to  carry  the 
invitation  to  Violet,  added,  or  rather  prefixed,  something  on 
his  own  account. 

"  Miss  Main,"  said  he,  with  a  sort  of  facetious  heartiness, 
"  do  you  know  you  have  been  looking  very  unwell  lately  ? 
Do  you  know  that  ?  Well,  we  can't  have  an  invalid  on  our 
hands  ;  people  coming  into  the  place  would  say  that  the  con- 
templation of  good  designs  in  furniture  had  a  bad  effect  on 
the  spirits.  Come,  what  do  you  say  to  taking  a  holiday  or  two, 
and  running  down  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Dowse  ?  You  will  get 
a  hearty  welcome.     Come,  is  it  to  be  a  bargain  ? " 

The  girl  looked  up  from  her  desk  :  she  had  been  reading  a 
newspaper,  having  nothing  else  to  do  at  the  moment. 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Dowse,  and  of  Mrs. 
Dowse  too  ;  but  I  assure  you  I  don't  feel  at  all  unwell  at 
present." 

"  But  I  assure  you  I  know  you  are  not  all  right ;  you  look 
troubled,  fatigued.     Come,  think  better  of  it." 

"I  could  not  leave  London  at  present,  sir,"  she  said.  "I 
— I  have  a  dear  friend  who  is  unwell — " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  he.  He  was  surprised. 
He  had  understood  that  she  had  not  a  single  friend  in  Lon- 
don. But,  taking  it  for  granted  that  it  was  some  lady  friend, 
he  added,  "  Well,  at  any  time  you  may  think  of  visiting  her, 
you  ought  to  do  so  during  the  day.  These  cold  and  misty 
nights  are  dangerous." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  she  :  she  was  glad  to  have 
no  further  demand  for  explanation. 

"  And  here  is  another  thing.  Mrs.  Dowse  would  be  very 
glad  if  you  would  spend  Christmas-day  with  us — " 

"  It  is  really  too  good  of  you — of  you  both,  sir,"  said  the 
girl,  who  was  very  much  touched  by  this  spontaneous  kindness 
on  the  part  of  people  who  were  practically  strangers  to  her. 
"  I  think,  however,  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me." 

He  regarded  her  for  a  moment  with  some  doubt. 

"  You  have  some  friends,  then,  with  whom  you  will  spend 
Christmas  ? " 


PREPARA  TIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  327 

"  N-no,  not  exactly,"  she  stammered. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  prefer  to  spend  Christmas-even- 
ing all  by  yourself  in  your  lodgings  ?  "  said  Mr.  Dowse,  with 
some  amazement. 

"  Perhaps— I — I  don't  prefer  it,"  she  said,  with  such  ob- 
vious embarrassment  that  he  resolved  not  to  press  the  invita- 
tion ;  "  but — if  you  will  tell  Mrs.  Dowse  how  much  I  thank  her. 
I  am  afraid  I  can  not  accept  her  kindness  this  time." 

So  there  was  no  more  said  on  that  subject  in  Regent  Street. 
The  whole  position  of  the  girl,  however,  was  a  fruitful  topic  of 
speculation,  led  by  Mr.  Dowse,  junior,  in  the  Berkshire  draw- 
ing-room of  an  evening.  It  was  observed,  among  other  things, 
that  she  never  availed  herself  of  that  permission  to  go  and  see 
her  sick  friend  in  the  day-time. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  a  brighter  look  came  to  Miss  Main's 
face.  She  began  to  regain  her  old  cheerful  equanimity ;  she 
was  as  vivacious  as  ever  in  discussing  those  combinations  of 
color  and  form  about  which  father  and  son  occasionally  con- 
sulted her.  They  guessed  that  her  sick  friend  was  getting  bet- 
ter. And  they  were  right.  That  fierce  fever  had  been  at 
last  overthrown  in  its  wrestle  with  a  fine  constitution.  As 
George  Miller  carried,  from  time  to  time,  this  news  to  Violet 
North,  he,  too,  could  notice  the  glowing  light  of  her  face,  and 
the  proud  gladness  of  her  eyes. 

"  He  will  go  away  from  London  when  the  mild  spring 
weather  comes  in,  will  he  not  ?  "  she  said.  "  Away  to  the 
South,  perhaps  1  Or  is  there  any  air  so  soft  and  sweet  as 
that  in  the  Western  Highlands  ?  Perhaps  he  will  go  away  in 
the  Sea-Fyot  again — to  Loch  Salen  and  Ornsay,  and  Kyle 
Rhea." 

"  And  you  ? "  said  he,  "  where  shall  you  be  then  ?  " 

Her  eyes  grew  distant,  but  not  sad. 

"  No  one  will  know  that ;  and  no  one  will  care.  And  you 
must  go  and  become  great  friends  with  Mr.  Drummond  again.- 
When  I  think  of  you,  I  shall  think  of  you  always  as  a  holiday 
party;  and  either  you  are  out  on  the  hills  shooting  with  old 
Peter,  or  else  you  are  away  in  the  yacht,  sailing  round  the 
islands,  and  getting  into  quiet  bays  in  the  evening.  Mind 
you,  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as  having  bright  and  beauti- 
ful weather,  and  of  your  being  very  merry." 

"  And  what  shall  we  think  of  you }  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  she  said,  quite  cheerfully.  "  You  can  not 
always  be  mourning  for  dead  people." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  not  considered,"  he  said,  with  some 
bitterness,  "  what  my  position  will  be.     I  shall  see  your  rela- 


328  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

tions  and  friends  still  saddened  by  thinking  of  your  death,  and 
know  that  I  could  with  a  word  relieve  them  from  this  grief, 
and  be  unable  to  do  so.  I  shall  see  them  wearing  black,  and 
become  a  party  to  a  hoax — " 

"  All  that  will  pass  by,"  she  said  ;  "  it  can  not  last  long ;  and 
poor  Anatolia  will  be  glad  to  get  out  of  black,  because  it  does 
not  suit  her  complexion.  Poor  Anatolia!  I  suppose  she 
speaks  quite  kindly  of  me  now  ?  " 

"  She  does  indeed." 

".And  Lady  North  too  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"There,  now,"  she  said,  with  a  sad  smile,  "don't  you  see 
what  good  I  have  done  already  ?  When  I  was  with  them — 
when  I  was  alive — I  was  the  cause  of  all  sorts  of  quarreling 
and  ill-temper ;  now  they  have  forgotten  all  that :  I  have  no 
doubt  they  would  put  some  flowers  on  my  grave,  if  only  they 
knew  where  to  find  it." 

He  could  find  nothing  at  all  jocular  in  the  affair  ;  but  his 
anxiety  and  embarrassment  at  this  moment  arose  from  selfish 
motives,  rather  than  from  any  generous  desire  to  restore  Vio- 
let toher  friends.  As  each  day  passed,  he  saw  the  time  of  her 
intended  flight  coming  nearer  ;  and  grew  more  and  more  to 
dread  the  responsibility  that  had  been  thrust  on  him.  He  did 
not  like  having  his  hands  cumbered  with  a  mystery.  For  the 
rest  of  his  life  he  would  have  to  become  a  practiced  hypocrite 
in  all  his  relations  with  some  dozen  persons  whom  he  would 
be  constantly  meeting.  All  this  annoyed  him ;  and  he  knew 
that  in  a  short  time  his  last  chance  of  protest  would  disappear. 

In  fact,  on  this  very  evening  things  reached  a  climax.  Just 
before  they  parted^  Violet  paused  for  a  moment,  and  said  to 
him,  with  some  earnestness, 

"  You  must  let  me  thank  you  most  warmly  for  all  this  kind- 
ness you  have  shown  me.     I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  Well,  mind  you,"  sard  he,  "  I  have  expressed  no  approval 
of  your  conduct.  I  think  you  are  very  wrong.  I  did  what 
you  asked  me ;  but — but  I  am  not  responsible — " 

"  I  understand,'"  she  said,  quickly.  "  The  responsibility  is 
mine.  Well,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  for  another  favor.  Will 
you  lend  me  a  hundred  pounds  ? " 

"A  hundred  pounds  !  "  he  said  ;  but  it  was  not  the  amount 
of  the  demand  that  caused  his  astonishment. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  calmly.  "  I  will  return  it  to  you  when  I  can ; 
but  if  you  lend  it  to  me,  it  may  be  some  time  before  I  can 
repay  you.  It  will  be  a  great  favor.  I  have  been  saving  up 
money  from  my  earnings  to  take  me  out  of  England,  so  that 


PREPARA  TIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  329 

I  should  escape  the  risk  of  further  discovery ;  but  it  is  a  slow 
process.  If  you  lend  me  this  money,  I  could  start  at  once. 
I  am  anxious  to  go,  now  that  I  know  Mr.  Drummond  is 
better." 

The  young  man  remained  silent.  His  first  impulse  was  to 
say,  "  You  shall  have  a  thousand ! "  for  he  could  not  brook 
the  idea  of  her  considering  him  mean.  Had  he  been  better 
acquainted  with  the  girl's  nature,  he  would  have  known  that 
such  an  idea  could  never  have  occurred  to  her.  However,  a 
moment's  reflection  checked  this  impulse  ;  for  he  saw  how  the 
loan  of  this  money  would  involve  him  more  deeply  than  ever 
in  a  responsibility  which  he  was  anxious  to  repudiate  altogether. 

"  You  must  give  me  time  to  think  about  that,"  said  he  ;  and 
then  he  added,  hastily,  "  Of  course,  you  know,  Violet,  it  isn't 
the  money.  You  might  have  that,  or  any  thing  else  of  mine, 
and  welcome  ;  but — but — " 

"  It  is  merely  a  question  of  time,"  she  said,  calmly.  "  I  am 
leaving  England,  and  I  shall  never  return  to  it.  If  you  lend 
me  this  money,  I  shall  go  a  little  sooner,  that  is  all.  If  you 
don't,  I  must  wait." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  considerable  embarrassment.  "  But 
then,  you  see,  I  am  helping  to  render  it  impossible  for  your 
friends  to  reclaim  you.     There  is  always  the  chance — " 

"  How  can  there  be  any  chance,  if  you  do  not  tell  them  1 
And  I  have  trusted  to  your  honor  as  regards  that." 

"There  is  always  the  chance,  though,"  he  said,  stubbornly. 
"  Look  at  the  chance  that  threw  me  in  your  way.  Don't  you 
see,  Violet,  that  the  Dowses  know  quite  well  you  were  not 
brought  up  to  be  a  clerk  ?  They  know  you  belong  to  some 
good  family — that  there  is  a  secret  about  it.  And,  of  course, 
they  will  go  on  talking  until  they  run  against  somebody  who 
knows  you — just  as  young  Dowse  did  in  my  case." 

"  That  is  the  greater  reason  why  I  should  get  away  at  once." 

"  But  it  is  the  very  reason  why  I  should  not  help  you ;  be- 
cause I  believe  you  are  acting  wrongly ;  and  I  don't  like  to 
have  any  part  in  it." 

"  Then  I  must  wait,"  she  said,  in  rather  disappointed  tones. 
"  Perhaps  Mr.  Dowse  would  lend  it  to  me  ;  he  is  a  very  gener- 
ous man." 

"  Give  me  till  to-morrow,  Violet,"  said  Miller.  "  Or  let  me 
see.  It  is  the  night  after  to-morrow  I  have  to  tell  you  about 
Mr.  Drummond  ? "  -     . 

"Yes,"  she  said ;  "  I  hope  that  will  be  the  last  time  I  shall 
have  to  trouble  you." 

"  I  will  tell  you  about  the  money  then." 


330  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

They  parted  ;  and  he  went  home  to  his  rooms  in  Half  Moon 
Street  with  some  serious  trouble  on  his  mind.  It  was  quite 
clear  that,  now  Mr.  Drummond  was  getting  better,  she  would, 
if  she  were  given  this  money,  leave  England  at  once.  His 
aiding  her  in  this  project  was  an  exceedingly  grave  matter. 
On  the  other  hand,  his  personal  pride  was  touched.  Could 
he  at  any  time  have  believed  that  Violet  North  would  con- 
descend to  ask  him  for  a  sum  of  money,  and  that  he  would 
refuse  her  ?  Did  she  think  he  was  afraid  of  not  having  it  back 
again  ?  She  had  spoken  of  Mr.  Dowse  as  a  generous  man  : 
was  there  not  some  contrast  lurking  in  her  thoughts  ? 

Then  he  began  to  argue  out  the  matter  on  a  different  line. 
If  he  lent  her  the  money,  he  was  not  responsible  for  the 
application  of  it.  The  gunsmith  who  sells  a  man  a  revolver 
with  which  a  murder  is  subsequently  committed  is  no  accessory 
in  the  crime.  He  had  protested  with  all  his  might  against 
this  project  of  hers.  After  all,  and  in  any  case,  he  was  not 
going  to  have  it  said  of  himself,  by  himself,  that  an  old  friend 
of  his  had  demanded  the  loan  of  a  paltry  hundred  pounds, 
and  been  refused. 

On  the  evening  on  which  he  was  to  see  Violet — for  the  last 
time,  according  to  her  expressed  wish — he  went  over  to  James 
Drummond's  house,  and  made  the  usual  inquiries.  The  an- 
swer was  in  every  way  favorable.  Though  the  patient  was 
still  exceedingly  weak,  still  he  was  slowly  getting  on  toward 
recovery ;  and  would  he  care  to  go  in  and  see  his  sick  friend 
for  a  few  minutes  ? 

"  Well,  young  Miller,"  said  Mr.  Drummond,  "  have  you 
come  to  play  the  Good  Samaritan  again  ?  Young  men  of  your 
age  ought  to  be  at  the  theatre,  and  balls,  and  that  kind  or 
thing,  instead  of  visiting  siek-rooms.  Or  are  you  fond  of 
tragedy  ?  only  there  would  scarcely  have  been  any  thing  tragic 
in  the  death  of  such  a  frail  and  helpless  victim  as  myself. 
Look  at  my  hands.  I  believe  the  executioner  took  pity  on 
me  even  after  he  had  my  head  on  the  block — gave  me  a  sort 
of  parting  kick,  as  it  were,  as  a  poor  devil  that  wasn't  worth 
wasting  his  strength  on.  Sit  down,  and  tell  me  what  is  going 
on.  I  am  not  allowed  to  read  yet,  and  my  sister  and  Amy — 
well,  you  know  how  women  begin  to  read  the  newspapers  to 
you — I  believe  they  would  begin  with  the  advertisements, 
and  then  go  on  to  the  police  news." 

The  large,  fine  eyes  were  as  keen  and  bright  as  ever,  but 
there  was  nothing  in  them  of  that  restless  fire  which  Miller 
had  seen  on  his  first  visit.  And  the  quick  intelligence  of  this 
strange  invalid  was  as  much  on  the  alert  as  ever ;  though  there 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  331 

was  a  tired  and  pale  look  on  his  face,  and  his  emaciated  hands 
lay  helpless  on  the  white  coverlet. 

Young  Miller  told  him  something  of  what  was  going  forward 
in  the  outside  world,  and  he  showed  great  interest  in  it.  But 
what  struck  his  visitor  as  most  peculiar  in  this  random  conversa- 
tion was  the  fashion  in  which  Mr.  Drummond  managed  to 
introduce,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  and  especially  when 
his  sister  was  in  the  room,  references  to  the  delirium  from 
which  he  had  suffered,  and  the  necessity  of  persons  guarding 
themselves  against  the  presumption  that  any  thing  said  during 
delirium  must  have  some  basis  of  fact  behind  it. 

"  Can't  you  imagine  frightful  mischief  arising,"  he  said, 
"  from  some  foolish  wife  believing  that  certain  things  uttered 
by  her  husband  when  he  was  in  a  delirious  state  must  be  partly 
true,  or  founded  in  truth — that  he  had  committed  some  crime, 
or  example  "i  Don't  you  think  that  it  is  some  small  mistake 
of  this  sort  that  often  leads  up  to  some  dreadful  tragedy,  a]> 
parently  without  explanation  ?  Now,  take  the  case  of  a  hus- 
band who  is  annoyed  by  the  pertinacious  curiosity  of  his  wife, 
who  is  continually  prying  into  his  correspondence  about  the 
most  commonplace  affairs.  To  punish  her  he  forges  one  or 
two  letters,  clear  evidence  of  an  intrigue,  and  places  them  in 
his  desk.  What  does  she  do  ?  Why,  go  out  and  drown  herself ; 
and  there  you  have  a  tragedy  arising  out  of  a  mere  joke.  It 
is  only  the  whipper-snapper  in  criticism  who  is  always  crying 
out  for  a  grand  and  tremendous  motive,  take  my  Vv^ord  for  it. 
The  greatest  tragedies  of  life  arise  out  of  the  most  trivial  things. 
You  know  the  most  appalling  tragedy  in  the  world — the 
destruction  of  the  great  host  of  the  Nibelungen,  who  marched 
away  from  the  Rhineland  to  be  the  guests  of  King  Etzel  and 
his  revengeful  wife — what  did  that  arise  out  of.-* — only  a 
taunt  flung  at  one  angry  woman  by  another,  which  was  im- 
mediately disavowed,  too,  by  the  first  woman's  husband.  You 
don't  know  that  I  once  wrote  a  tragedy  t  " 

''  No." 

"  I  did.  It  has  mingled  with  the  elementary  forces  of  nature 
by  this  time,  for  I  burned  it.  And  another  objection  was 
about  the  '  unities.'  Gracious  goodness  !  do  you  find  any  of 
the  great  masters,  when  they  look  abroad  on  the  beautiful  and 
diverse  world,  limiting  themselves  to  such  material  as  is  neces- 
sary to  some  small  and  mechanical  plot  ?  I  think  it  is  the  odd 
characters — the  people  who  have  no  business  there — that  I 
love  the  most ;  for  unless  the  author  loved  them  too,  he  would 
not  go  out  of  his  way  to  drag  them  in.  What  on  earth  has 
Autolycus  to  do  with  the  plot  of  *  A  Winter's  Tale  ? ' — and  yet 


332  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

I  don't  know  any  body  I  have  such  a  sneaking  fondness  for 
as  Autolycus.  I  wish  he  lived  in  the  parish  of  Camberwell. 
He  should  dine  with  me  every  day,  and  the  spoons  would  be 
at  his  disposal.  Then  look  at  the  First  Grave-digger  in 
*  Hamlet : '  how  could  we  do  without  the  Grave-digger  ?  " 

"  Not  very  well,"  said  Miller,  with  a  modest  smile ;  "  we 
must  have  him,  sooner  or  later." 

"  Young  Miller,"  observed  the  recumbent  invalid,  "when 
you  are  bent  on  making  jokes,  please  to  remember  that  I  have 
just  missed  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  grave-digger  by 
a  hair-breadth,  and  that  I  may  have  suddenly  to  turn  round 
and  shake  hands  with  him,  thanking  him  beforehand  for  allot- 
ting me  so  much  of  his  valuable  space,  as  the  people  say  who 
write  to  the  newspapers.  Then  there  is  the  melancholy  Jacques 
— I  have  always  had  a  great  regard  for  my  namesake ;  but  I 
don't  see  that^  he  affects  the  action  of  the  story  very  much. 
The  '  unities—' " 

"  But  how  did  they  criticise  your  tragedy,  if  it  was  never 
published  ? " 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  that  there  are  critics  who  buffet 
your  book  before  it  is  published,  and  critics  who  jump  on  it 
afterward  ?  My  beautiful  tragedy  suffered  so  much  from  the 
first  that  I  determined  that  it  should  not  reach  the  second. 
I  liberated  it.  Now  I  can  imagine  portions  of  it  floating  as 
down  on  a  butterfly's  wing  ;  and  other  portions  appearing  in 
the  petal  of  a  primrose  ;  and  others  forming  part  of  the  pink 
flush  in  a  young  girl's  cheek.  My  tragedy  will  never  die.  If 
I  had  published  it  now,  what  would  have  been  the  result  ? 
I  should  know  that,  although  I  bought  in  every  copy  I  could 
lay  my  hands  on,  the  people  at  the  British  Museum  would 
tenaciously  cling  to  that  evidence  of  my  stupidity.  I  will 
admit  that  my  hero  was  an  ass — and  a  sonorous,  self-con- 
ceited ass,  too.     Let's  see — what  was  his  name  ?  " 

But  here  Mrs.  Warren er  broke  in  upon  this  random  talk  by 
entering  the  room  with  some  medicine  in  her  hand.  He  took 
the  glass  from  her,  and  swallowed  the  stuff. 

"  Another  compliment  to  my  doctor,"  he  said  :  "  I  take  it 
only  to  please  him — I  am  certain  it  has  not  the  least  effect 
upon  me.  But  if  a  man  carries  you  across  a  river,  and  then 
tells  you  he  was  able  to  do  it  because  he  had  a  tobacco-stop- 
per in  his  pocket,  you  are  bound  to  respect  the  tobacco-stop- 
per." 

"  You  seem  to  be  getting  on  very  well,"  said  young  Miller, 
cheerfully. 

"  My  great  ambition,"  said  the  invalid,  "is  to  get  a  white 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  333 

collar  on — a  regularly  starched,  stiff,  stuck-up  collar,  as  hard 
as  iron,  and  as  white  as  snow.  I  have  got  so  tired  of  these 
half-tinted,  wretched,  soft,  cotton  things  I  have  been  swathed 
in — " 

"  Well,  James,"  said  his  sister,  "  I  hope  when  you  get  bet- 
ter you  don't  mean  to  be  more  particular  about  your  collars 
and  shirts  than  before,  for  indeed  there  was  never  any  pleas- 
ing you.  You  don't  care  what  sort  of  coat  you  wear,  nor 
what  sort  of  hat,  but  your  linen  and  your  boots,  there  is  no 
pleasing  you  with  them." 

"  And  I  am  looking  forward,  too,  to  the  first  draught  of 
bitter  ale  I  am  allowed.  Do  you  remember  that  sensation — 
the  first  draught  at  luncheon  on  the  first  day  of  the  shooting, 
after  all  the  heat  and  toil }  No,  you  were  not  up  with  us  on 
the  1 2th." 

He  grew  silent  after  that,  and  thoughtful.  Young  Miller, 
with  some  words  of  hope  and  encouragement,  took  his  leave, 
and  made  his  way  across  London  to  the  neighborhood  of 
Regent  Street. 

It  was  the  last  time  he  was  to  see  Violet,  and  he  carried  in 
his  pocket  the  sum  of  money  which  was  to  free  her  from  the 
necessity  of  remaining  longer  in  London.  Nay,  he  carried 
double  that  sum,  for,  he  said  to  himself,  if  there  was  mischief 
to  be  done  by  the  one  hundred  pounds,  no  greater  could  be 
done  by  two  hundred ;  and  he  would  show  her  that  it  was 
not  the  value  of  the  money  that  had  made  him  pause.  And  yet, 
as  he  v/alked  up  and  down  Great  Marlborough  Street  (she 
had  refused  to  go  again  into  the  theatre)  in  expectation  of 
her,  he  was  not  a  little  anxious  and  agitated.  The  chances 
of  any  one  now  interfering  to  relieve  him  from  the  responsi- 
bility he  had  incurred  were  small  indeed.  She  would  start 
at  once  ;  how  could  any  body  trace  her  after  she  left  New 
York  ?  When  he  gave  her  that  promise,  he  was  convinced 
he  could  talk  her  out  of  a  determination  which  he  considered 
to  be  the  height  of  folly ;  he  had  failed  in  that,  and  now  he 
saw  no  prospect  of  her  releasing  him  at  all. 

The  question  now  was.  Ought  this  promise  to  be  kept } 
Young  Miller  was  not  much  of  a  casuist ;  but  he  had  some 
shrewd  common  sense.  He  knew  there  were  occasions  on 
which  people  might  legitimately  do  something  not  quite 
"  straight."  There  were  innocent  forms  of  deception.  He 
thought  this  was  too  bad.  It  wasn't  quite  fair  to  him  or  to 
any  body.  She  ought  not  to  expect  that  the  temporary 
promise  was  to  last  forever.     As  he  walked  up  and  down,  he 


334  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

pretty  nearly  worked  himself  into  the  conviction  that,  at  all 
risks,  he  ought  to  go  and  tell  the  girl's  father. 

Now,  if  he  had  had  some  male  confidant  of  his  own  stamp, 
with  whom  he  could  have  debated  this  question,  there  can  be 
little  doubt  that  he  would  have  gone  and  told  the  girl's  father. 
His  friend  would  have  said  to  him  : 

"  Oh,  look  here,  Miller,  you  can  not  let  the  girl  go  like  that. 
If  your  conscience  is  tender  about  your  promise,  you  must 
do  evil,  that  good  may  come.  Lots  of  people  do  that.  You 
tell  lies  to  sick  people  to  make  them  hope.  This  is  all  non- 
sense :  go  away  and  tell  the  girl's  father  at  once." 

Nay,  if  the  promise  had  been  given  to  a  man,  under  similar 
circumstances,  it  is  probable  that  Miller,  without  any  counsel, 
would  so  have  acted.  But  it  was  different  with  a  girl,  and 
that  girl  Violet  North.  He  could  imagine  the  look  of  con- 
tempt with  which  she  would  hear  that  he  had  broken  his 
word.  He  was  afraid  of  her  scorn.  In  the  midst  of  these 
deliberations,  Violet  appeared. 

"  He  is  still  going  on  favorably  ?  "  she  said,  gently.  He 
had  been  so  occupied  in  thinking  of  her  anger  that  he  was 
surprised  by  the  sad  sweetness  of  her  voice. 

"  Oh,  first-rate  !  "  said  he.  "  Talking  away  as  fast  as  ever 
— it  is  no  use  urging  him  to  be  quiet.  And  I  suppose  there 
is  no  great  harm  in  talking  ;  it  is  the  thinking  that  is  the  mat- 
ter ;  for  his  brain  still  has  some  symptoms  of  feverishness  left, 
and  goes  on  at  such  a  pace  that  he  can't  get  sleep.  That  is 
weakness,  you  know — feverishness ;  a  man  can't  sleep  well 
unless  he  has  exercise.  But  in  other  respects  he  is  going  on 
wonderfully  well." 

Then  there  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  with  some  embarrassment,  "  I  have 
brought  you  the  money.  Since  you  have  asked  it,  here  it  is ; 
and  if  you  are  really  going,  one  hundred  pounds  is  not 
enough.     I  have  brought  you  two  hundred  pounds." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,"  she  said,  as  she  took  the  en- 
velope containing  the  notes.  "I  will  send  it  to  you  back 
again  by  degrees  ;  and  I  know  you  won't  hurry  me." 

At  this  moment  a  sudden  thought  flashed  into  his  mind 
that  had  never  occurred  to  him  before.  If  she  posted  these 
installments  from  time  to  time,  would  not  he  thus  be  able  to 
get  some  approximate  notion  of  her  whereabouts  in  America.^ 
That  was  something,  but  not  much,  considering  the  vow  un- 
der which  she  would  leave  him. 

"  Now,  Violet,"  said  he,  "  you  are  free  to  go ;  and  I  sup- 


PREPARA  TIONS  FOR  FLIGHT.  335 

pose  this  will  be  the  last  chance  I  shall  have  of  begging  you 
to  consider  what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  have  considered,"  she  said,  sadly. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  he,  rather  excitedly,  "  I  have 
been  considering  too ;  and  really,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I  don't 
know  that  I  am  right  in — in — " 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  said,  calmly,  "  that  you  have  been 
considering  whether  you  will  break  your  word  of  honor  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  some  compunction,  "  I — I — under- 
stood it  was  to  be  temporary." 

"  I  had  no  such  understanding,"  she  replied,  "  nor  did  you 
say  any  thing  about  that." 

"  It  is  very  hard — "  he  was  beginning  to  say,  when  she  in- 
terrupted him. 

"  Pray,  let  us  part  friends,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  appeal 
in  her  voice.  "  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me — be  kind 
now ! 

"  And  you  won't  even  let  me  know  where  you  are  to  be 
found  in  America,  suppose  any  thing  were  to  turn  up  ?  " 

"  No,  she  said.  "  I  am  to  be  as  one  dead  to  you,  and  to 
all  here.  In  a  year  or  two  it  will  not  matter;  you  will  have 
forgotten.  And  before  that,  too,  I  must  think  of  you  all  as 
happy  and  enjoying  yourselves,  as  I  told  you  before — shoot- 
ing wild  duck,  going  to  the  Royal  Academy,  dining  with 
Lady  North.  In  every  thing  that  may  happen  to  you,  I  shall 
always  think  of  you  as  I  hope  and  pray  you  may  always  be — 
pleased,  and  happy,  and  contented.  Now,  good-bye.  I  am 
more  grateful  to  you  than  I  can  tell  you.  You  have  been 
kind  to  me — " 

She  was  gone  ;  he  was  left  standing  there,  bewildered. 
Somehow,  though  there  was  not  much  sentiment  in  his  na- 
ture, he  felt  sick  at  heart.  It  was  hard  to  lose  this  beautiful 
friend,  who  had  for  a  time  been  mixed  up  with  his  boyish 
dreams.  He  pictured  her  going  out  alone  to  the  unknown 
world  of  America,  not  one  human  being  there  to  meet  her 
and  take  her  by  the  hand.  He  thought  of  her  lonely  life  in 
that  far  country,  of  the  years  adding  to  her  loneliness — for 
he  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that  she  would  never  marry — until 
the  final  night  came,  and  she  would  pass  Away  without  one  of 
her  own  people  or  her  old  friends  near  her  at  that  awful  mo- 
ment. His  dinner  at  the  Judaeum  that  night  nearly  choked 
him.  His  acquaintances  there  were  convinced  that  he  had 
been  heavily  hit  by  the  sudden  fall  in  Costa  Ricas. 

Next  morning  Violet  sought  an  opportunity  of  speaking 
with  Mr.  Dowse  in  private. 


536  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Dowse,  but  would  it  be  convenient 
for  you  to  let  me  leave  at  the  end  of  the  month  ? " 

"  To  leave  altogether  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  humbly. 

Mr.  Dowse  was  surprised,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  offended. 
He  knew  he  had  dealt  generously  by  this  girl ;  and  here  she 
was  wanting  to  leave  at  little  more  than  a  week's  notice. 

"  I  hope  you  have  not  found  the  situation  disagreeable.  Miss 
Main  ?  "  said  he,  somewhat  stiffly. 

*'  Oh  no,"  she  said,  "  on  the  contrary,  you  have  been  most 
indulgent  to  me." 

''  Is  it  a  question  of  salary  ?  " 

"  No — certainly  not,"  she  said.     "  I — " 

"  Perhaps  you  have  another  situation  in  view  ?  " 

"  I  have  not,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  I  wish  to  leave 
England — that  is  all.  I  must  go.  If  it  would  be  convenient 
for  ycu,  Mr.  Dowse,  I  would  willingly  forfeit  a  month's 
salary — " 

The  moment  she  had  uttered  the  words  she  felt  sorr}^ 

"  I  don't  think.  Miss  Main,"  said  he,  "  that  there  has  been 
much  monetary  dispute  between  us.  I  am  sorry  you  feel  it 
necessary  to  leave  England;  but,  if  it  is  so,  well,  I  need 
scarcely  say  that  we  shall  not  attempt  to  bind  you  by  any 
engagement.  Perhaps  it  would  be  impertinent  if  I  asked  you 
what  your  plans  are  ?  " 

"  I  have  none  at  all,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I  am  going  to 
America." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously ;  he  began  to  believe  there 
might  be  something  in  the  nonsense  his  son  had  been  talk- 
ing about  this  mysterious  stranger. 

"  Well,  well.  Miss  Main,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  you  are  ad- 
venturous ;  but  you  have  courage.  And  so  you  have  resolved 
to  leave  us  ?  Well,  you  know,  you  must  come  down  and  bid 
Mrs.  Doivse  good-bye." 

This  worthy  person,  having  a  suspicion  that  the  girl  was 
committing  a  mistake,  was  of  opinion  that  nobody  could  talk 
her  over  like  Mrs.  Dowse. 

"  What  do  you  say,  now }  Won't  you  change  your  mind 
about  Christmas  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  can  not  do  that.  But  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  go  down  and  bid  Mrs.  Dowse  good-bye.  Would  next 
Saturday  be  convenient  ?  " 

"  The  day  after  Christmas  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  Certainly  it  would.     You  won't  mind  coming  down  to 


SOUL  TO  SOUL  !  337 

Windsor  Station  by  5^ourself ;  as  we  shall  all  be  clown  in  the 
country  from  the  Friday  to  the  Monday.  We  will  meet  you 
at  the  station — that  is,  if  we  are  not  drowned  in  the  floods  be- 
fore then.  We  are  living  in  the  middle  of  a  lake  at  pres- 
ent." 

And  so  it  was  settled  that  Violet  should  go  down  on  the 
Saturday  to  bid  good-bye  to  her  friends  at  The  Laurels.  In 
the  mean  time  she  made  all  her  preparations  for  her  depart- 
ure. She  booked  her  place  on  board  one  of  the  trans- 
atlantic steamers  ;  and  got  her  luggage  ready.  On  the  night 
before  Christmas-day  she  went  to  Covent  Garden  and  bought 
some  flowers — not  a  bouquet  of  wax-like  blooms,  but  a  basket 
of  primroses,  and  violets,  and  snowdrops  ;  a  vision  of  spring- 
time in  the  dead  of  winter.  Then  she  went  home  ;  and  took 
out  a  rudely  written  piece  of  paper ;  and  there  were  tears 
running  down  her  face  like  rain  as  she  read  the  words : 
"  These  flowers  are  sent  to  Mr.  Drummond  from  one  who  re- 
ceived great  kindness  from  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

"  SOUL  TO  SOUL  !  " 

All  that  Christmas-day,  until  the  afternoon,  she  spent  in 
her  lodgings,  sometimes  reading,  sometimes  adding  a  bit 
to  her  packing,  sometimes  staring  out  of  window  into  the 
misty  street,  where  the  shops  were  shut,  and  the  people 
who  passed  wore  their  Sunday  clothes.  She  thought  the  cold, 
dismal  day  would  never  end. 

Her  landlady,  pitying  her  forlorn  condition,  came  up  and 
made  bold  to  ask  her  whether  she  would  not  have  something 
extra  for  her  dinner,  seeing  it  was  Christmas-day.  Miss 
Main  replied  that  she  would  be  out  in  the  afternoon,  and 
would  return  to  supper,  as  usual,  in  the  evening.  Then  Mrs. 
Roberts  called,  and  frankly  invited  the  girl  to  go  over  and 
have  dinner  with  herself  and  a  small  party  of  guests.  Miss 
Main  thanked  her  friend  warmly ;  but  said  she  had  an  en- 
gagement. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  it  was  drawing  toward  dusk,  she  put 
on  her  shawl  and  bonnet  and  a  thick  veil,  and  went  out. 
The  gaslamps  were  being  lighted  in  the  misty  twilight.  Not- 
withstanding the  heavy  rains  that  had  recently  fallen,  the  at- 


338  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

mosphere  was  cold  and  raw ;  occasionally  the  yellow  light 
from  the  lamps  sparkled  on  the  frosty  pavements  ;  she  vaguely 
knew  the  roads  would  be  slippery  outside  the  town,  whither 
she  was  going. 

It  seemed  strange  to  her  to  look  at  the  people  who  v>'ere 
passing — silent,  content,  occupied  only  in  thinking  of  the 
present  moment,  of  the  cold,  or  the  hour,  or  the  condition  of 
the  crossing.  They  were  few  in  number ;  the  streets  were 
more  deserted  than  on  a  Sunday ;  over  the  closed  shops  she 
saw  the  windows  lighted  up  :  there,  doubtless,  were  pleasant 
gathering  of  friends,  doubtless  having  a  chat  and  a  laugh  to- 
gether before  the  festivities  of  the  evening  began.  She 
walked  on — scarcely  knowing  what  to  think  of  all  the  world 
around  her — until  she  got  an  omnibus  bound  for  Victoria 
Station ;  and  that  she  entered,  finding  herself  the  only  pas- 
senger. 

It  was  otherwise  at  the  station;  for  here  and  there  were  a 
good  many  people,  mostly  young  men  in  evening-dress,  who 
were  obviously  going  out  to  parties  in  the  suburbs.  They 
were  in  groups,  laughing  and  jesting.  She  sat  in  a  corner  of 
the  dimly  lighted  waiting-room  until  it  was  time  for  the  train 
to  start. 

There  were  two  or  three  friends,  bound  for  the  same  house, 
in  the  carriage  with  her.  They  were  joking  merrily.  They 
were  young  Germans,  and  a  trifle  boisterous  ;  but  she  for- 
gave the  boys  their  high  spirits — was  it  not  Christmas-time  ? 
As  she  drew  near  Denmark-hill  Station  her  heart  began  to 
beat  more  rapidly.  She  recognized  the  voice  of  the  porter 
calling  out  as  the  train  stopped  ;  she  hurried  by  him — scarcely 
looking  at  the  wreaths  of  evergreens  hung  all  around — for  she 
was  afraid  he  might  remember  her.  It  was  the  first  Christ- 
mas she  has  omitted  to  pay  a  half-crown  toll  for  these  pleasant 
decorations. 

Up  here  the  air  was  keener  and  clearer ;  a  star  or  two  were 
faintly  visible  in  the  gray  overhead ;  the  pavements  sparkled 
with  the  frost ;  a  great  silence  lay  over  the  black  trees  in  the 
gardens.  And  through  these  trees  and  bushes  she  caught 
glimpses  of  glowing  windows  ;  here  and  there  a  blind  lifted 
or  a  curtain  pushed  aside  showed  her  brilliant  rooms,  and 
green  decorations,  and  figures — doubtless  those  of  children 
— dancing ;  and  she  heard  the  sound  of  merry  music.  One 
large  gate  stood  open  ;  she  went  in  a  step  or  two,  and  stood 
by  the  laurel  bushes.  Was  not  this  "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  ?  " 
There  were  screams  of  laughter,  and  children's  voices ; 
through  the  white  curtains  she  could  see  that  picture  of  joy- 


SOUL  TO  SOUL!  339 

ousness  within.  When  she  turned  away,  there  were  tears 
running  down  her  face.  It  was  her  last  look  at  an  English 
Christmas. 

At  length  she  got  into  the  Grove ;  and  it  was  with  slow 
steps,  and  with  a  great  fear  in  her  heart,  that  she  drew  near 
the  house  she  had  been  wont  to  approach  with  gladness  and 
confidence.  She  looked  all  round ;  there  was  not  a  human 
being  visible  in  the  thoroughfare.  She  ventured  to  go  up  as 
far  as  the  house,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  stood  for 
a  second  or  two  looking  at  it.  What  she  saw  was  plain 
enough — the  peaked  roofs,  the  diamond-paned  windows,  the 
curious  little  veranda,  and  the  lamp  swinging  over  the  door 
under  the  porch :  what  she  experienced  then  of  the  wild 
anguish  of  farewell  no  human  being  will  ever  know. 

She  pictured  to  herself  the  group  within,  in  the  small 
dining-room — the  sick  man,  lying  on  his  couch,  pretending 
to  be  brave  and  strong  so  as  to  help  along  the  simple  festiv- 
ities, perhaps  raising  a  glass  into  his  lean  hand  and  calling 
on  them  to  drink  a  glass  to  their  absent  friends.  She  would 
not  be  included  even  in  that.  *But  surely  they  would  think 
of  her  on  this  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year,  and  they  would 
think  not  unkindly  of  her,  for  the  sake  of  old  times — 

She  could  not  bear  this  desperate  sobbing  ;  it  was  like  to 
break  her  heart.  And  yet  it  was  hard  to  tear  herself  away. 
There  was  but  a  short  distance  now  between  her  and  all  that 
she  loved  upon  earth ;  soon  the  great  Atlantic  would  be  be- 
tween them. 

"  Good-bye — good-bye  ! "  her  heart  said  to  them,  in  its 
yearning  love  and  agony.  "  If  you  knew  I  was  so  near,  you 
would  come  to  me — you  would  ask  me  to  go  in — I  should  not 
be  a  stranger.  Perhaps  there  is  an  angel  watching  over  that 
house,  to  bring  peace  to  it,  and  gladness.  He  knows  why  I 
go  away.  Oh,  my  dearest  friends,  good-bye— good-bye  for 
the  last  time  !  "  • 

She  walked  awa}^,  her  head  bent  down,  her  breast  heaving 
with  its  sobs.  She  went  by  those  brilliantly  lighted  windows, 
whence  the  sound  of  music  issued,  like  some  mute  ghost  of 
misery. 

She  did  not  walk  far,  however;  for  she  had  not  accom- 
plished the  chief  part  of  her  mission.  After  a  time,  when  she 
had  quieted  herself  somewhat,  she  began  to  look  around  for 
some  one  who  would  become  her  messenger ;  but  it  was  some 
time  before  she  saw  a  single  human  being,  the  thoroughfares 
were  so  deserted.  At  last,  however,  she  heard  a  small  boy 
approach,  whistling.     She  asked  him  if  he  would  take  the 


340  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

basket  she  held  in  her  hand,  with  a  note,  and  leave  them  at 
a  certain  door.  He  looked  curiously  at  her.  She  said  she 
would  give  him  a  shilling,  and  he  at  once  consented.  So  she 
walked  back  with  him  to  the  Grove,  intrusted  him  with  the 
flowers  and  the  folded  piece  of  paper,  and  then  hurried  away 
in  the  gloom. 

James  Drummond  was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing- 
room,  propped  up  by  the  cushion,  and  Amy  was  at  the  piano, 
playing  to  him.  His  sister  entered  the  room,  carrying  some- 
thing, and  said, 

"  What  a  strange  thing  !  Here  is  a  basket  of  flowers  for 
you,  James — and  this  bit  of  paper,  which  was  handed  in  with 
them." 

Her  face  was  quite  bright.  She  thought  it  was  a  kindly 
action.     She  handed  him  the  note,  which  he  opened. 

The  next  moment  she  was  startled  by  a  quick  cry.  She 
turned  at  once,  and  to  her  horror  saw  her  brother  apparently 
making  a  fierce  attempt  to  rise  from  the  couch,  while  his  face 
was  wild  and  white. 

"What  is  it,  James?-'* 

"  Sarah,  Sarah  !  "  he  cried,  holding  out  the  paper  with  a 
shaking  hand,  "  she  is  alive  !  I  tell  you  that  Violet  is  alive  ! 
I  know — I  know — only  herself  would  think  of  this  !  It  is  a 
message  from  soul  to  soul !     Violet — " 

He  sunk  back,  speechless  and  exhausted. 

"  Yes,  James,"  said  his  sister,  soothingly.  She  was  dread- 
fully alarmed  by  this  wild  scene  ;  and  she  jumped  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  had  lapsed  again  into  delirium.  "  Perhaps 
they  are  from  Violet — you  must  be  still  now." 

"  Woman,  woman  !  "  he  cried,  with  still  another  frantic 
effort  to  rise,  "  don't  stand  there  !  Send  after  her  !  Send 
after  the  messenger  !     Who  brought  them  \  " 

"  A  boy,"  replied  Mrs.  Warrener,  thoroughly  bewildered, 
for  her  brother  did  not  appear  to  be  delirious,  though  he 
spoke  these  incoherent  words, 

"  Send  after  him — quick,  quick  !  Ask  him  where  he  got 
the  flow^ers — and  the  message." 

She  ran  at  once  out  into  the  night.  If  this  were  madness, 
it  would  soothe  him  to  know  she  had  obeyed  him.  Or  was 
there  some  wild  possibility — some  subtle  sense — in  his  over- 
excited brain  ? 

Well,  she  had  not  far  to  go ;  for  there  was  the  boy,  under 
the  gas-lamp,  examining  the  shilling  and  biting  it  with  his 
teeth,  to  prove  that  his  gopdluCk  was  not  a  delusion. 


UNINVITED  GUESTS.  341 

"  Boy,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "  you  brought  the  flowers  to 
our  door?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  he  said  suddenly  plunging  the  shilling  into 
his  pocket. 

"  Who  gave  you  them  ?    Where  did  you  get  them  ? " 

"  The  lady  gave  me  them — I  met  her  round  the  corner." 

"  What  was  she  Hke  ?    A  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  tall?" 

"  Yes,  and  she  wore  a  thick  veil ;  and  I  think  she  was  crv- 
ing." 

Mrs.  Warrener  began  to  tremble  in  every  limb. 

"  Which  way  did  she  go  ?  " 

"  That  way." 

He  pointed  away  down  the  dusky  thoroughfare,  which  was 
now  silent  and  empty.  Mrs.  Warrener  went  back  to  the 
house.  Her  steps  were  not  very  firm  ;  and  her  face,  as  she 
entered  the  room,  was  as  white  as  that  of  her  brother,  who 
stared  at  her  with  eager,  excited  eyes. 

"  Oh,  James — is  it  possible  ?  The  boy — the  boy  says  it  was 
a  young  lady  who  gave  him  the  flowers — a  tall  young  lady — 
she  was  veiled — and  he  thought  she  was  crying." 

The  sick  man  sunk  back  on  the  cushion. 

"  Violet  is  alive  and  in  London,  Sarah,"  he  said,  faintly. 
"You  must  find  her —  Alive  ! — Our  Violet  here  a  few  min- 
utes ago — "  And  then  he  murmured  to  himself,  as  he  turned 
his  head  away  from  the  glare  of  the  light,  "  Oh,  Madcap, 
Madcap,  what  have  you  done  !  " 


CHAPTER  XL. 

UNINVITED   GUESTS. 


There  are  moments  of  agonized  thinking  that  shorten 
one's  life  by  years.  Mrs.  Warrener  would  have  appealed  to 
to  her  brother  to  come  to  her  aid  to  put  in  order  the  wild 
suggestions  that  his  words  had  conjured  up,  to  resolve  the 
terrible  doubts  which  now  flashed  in  upon  her ;  but  he  lay 
there  silent  and  exhausted,  that  scene  of  excitement  having 
obviously  been  too  much  for  the  feeble  energies  of  an  invalid. 
She  was  left  to  face  the  situation  alone. 

"  Mamma,  is  it  possible — do  you  think  it  possible,  Violet 


342  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

can  be  alive  ?  "  said  her  daughter,  whose  face  was  as  pale  as 
her  own. 

"  Child,  child  !  how  can  I  tell  ?  "  the  mother  replied,  in  a 
bewildered  way. 

There  were  the  flowers  on  the  table,  and  the  rudely  written 
message  ;  but  it  was  the  interpretation  given  to  them  that 
was  the  strange  and  terrible  thing,  like  some  dream-warning 
come  true,  or  the  vision  seen  by  a  dying  man.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  that  some  tall  young  lady  had  left  the  flowers ; 
was  it  really  true,  then,  that  Violet  had  been  all  this  time 
living  in  London,  thinking  about  them  as  they  about  her,  per- 
haps coming  occasionally,  in  her  love  of  madcap  ways,  to 
have  a  peep  at  them,  herself  unseen  ? " 

Then  her  face  grew  hot,  and  shame  and  indignation  were 
at  her  heart. 

If,  after  all,  the  girl  had  run  away  from  the  Highlands, 
why  ?  Was  it  to  please  herself  with  her  school-girlish  roman- 
ticism ?  She  could  not  quite  believe  that  of  Violet.  But  she 
angrily  conjectured  that  if  it  really  turned  out  the  girl  was 
alive  and  well,  it  would  be  discovered  she  had  run  away  to 
rejoin  her  former  sweetheart ;  and  that  all  this  long  grief 
and  regret  had  been  visited  upon  her  friends  simply  because 
she  had  not  the  courage  to  declare  her  intention  in  the  High- 
lands. And  the  anger  in  Mrs.  Warrener's  gentle  bosom  was 
not  directed  against  Violet — whose  wayward  ways  were  known 
— but  against  George  Miller,  who  had  seen  their  sufferings, 
and  still  held  his  peace ;  who  had  come  ever  there  and  hypo- 
critically talked  of  the  lost  Violet ;  who,  having  three  or  four 
years  before  pretty  nearly  compromised  the  girl's  reputation, 
had  now  most  thoroughly  succeeded  in  doing  so,  and  that  for 
life. 

"  James,"  she  said,  warmly,  "if  Violet  is  alive,  she  must  have 
run  away  to  go  to  Mr.  Miller.  What  else  could  prompt  her 
to  do  such  a  mad,  thing  ?" 

"  That  is  no  matter,"  the  sick  man  said,  gently ;  "  it  is 
enough  that  she  is  alive.  Go  to  her,  Sarah.  Tell  her  we 
are  glad  to  know  she  is  alive ;  and  see  whether  she  is  well 
and  happy.  That  is  all  right.  Don't  blame  her  for  what 
has  been  done." 

"But  where  am  I  to  find  her?  Oh,  James,  all  this  is  a 
sort  of  wild  dream  !  I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  us 
to-night — on  Christmas-night — that  we  are  thinking  such 
harsh  things  about  our  poor  Violet." 

Her  heart  went  up  in  a  prayer  for  forgiveness.  The  mem- 
ory of  that  wayward  girl  had  become  a  pure  and  beautiful 


UNINVITED  GUESTS.  343 

memory.  Surely,  if  her  gentle  spirit,  on  this  Christmas 
evening,  were  looking  down  on  the  household  that  she  used 
to  love,  she  would  regard  with  a  gentle  pity  and  forbearance 
this  black  nightmare  that  had  come  over  them. 

"Mamma,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  with  tears  runing  down 
her  face,  "  if  there  is  any  chance  at  all,  we  must  try  to  find 
her.  Oh,  to  think  of  getting  our  Violet  back !  Let  us  go  to 
Mr.  Miller,  if  you  think  he  will  know — if  there  is  any  chance 
at  all,  mamma — " 

Mrs.  Warrener  looked  at  those  flowers  once  more,  and  she 
thought  of  the  mysterious  visitor. 

"  Shall  we  go  and  ask  Mr.  Miller  ? "  she  said  to  her 
brother. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  he  said,  eagerly  ;  "  that  before  every  thing. 
You  will  find  him  at  his  father's  house  to-night,  at  Sydenham 
Hill ;  Amy  knows  the  place.  Perhaps — no,  he  could  not 
have  been  so  cruel — but  he  is  a  young  man  ;  he  has  plenty  of 
money  and  time  ;  he,  will  help  you  to  seek  for  her.  And 
when  you  find  her,  ask  no  questions  of  her,  Sarah.  Let  the 
girl  have  her  own  secrets.  What  she  did  she  was  compelled 
to  do,  be  sure  of  that.  And  do  not  ask  her  to  come  here  un- 
less she  offers  to  do  that.  See  that  she  is  well,  and  tell  her 
that  we  are  glad  to  hear  news  of  her — that  is  all." 

"  How  sure  your  uncle  is  that  she  is  alive  1 "  said  Mrs. 
Warrener  to  her  daughter,  as  they  hurriedly  went  away  to 
dress  themselves  for  the  plunge  into  the  cold  air.  "  I  hope 
it  is  not  all  some  strange  dream  of  his,  such  as  he  had  when 
he  was  delirious  ;  you  remember  the  night  he  fancied  Violet 
was  sitting  in  the  easy-chair,  and  that  she  was  his  wife,  and 
going  over  the  housekeeping  accounts.  Any  one  would  have 
believed  it  was  true  ;  he  was  so  anxious  she  should  not  hurt 
her  eyes  with  the  accounts,  and  the  way  he  begged  her  for- 
giveness for  being  unable  to  give  her  more  money — " 

"  But  this  is  quite  different,  mamma.  There  is  no  deliri- 
um in  it  at  all ;  and  oh,  I  hope  it  is  true  !  " 

When  the  maid-servant  was  ordered  to  put  back  the  dinner 
' — the  Christmas  dinner — to  nine  o'clock,  she  thought  her 
mistress  had  gone  out  of  her  v/its.  She  went  down  and 
complained  to  her  colleague  in  the  kitchen  that  the  house 
had  been  all  at  sixes  and  sevens  since  the  master  and  missis 
came  back  from  Scotland ;  that  there  never  was  a  laugh  in  the 
place  now,  ever  since  Miss  Violet  was  drowned  ;  and  that  al- 
together she  felt  so  miserable  and  wretched  that  she  meant 
to  give  warning.  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daugh- 
ter, considering  the  scarcity  of  trains  on  such  a  day,  had  re 


344  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

solved  to  walk  over  to  Sydenham  Hill ;  and  so,  with  such 
speed  as  the  slippery  roads  permitted,  they  went  along  to 
Green  Lane,  descended  into  those  Dulwich  meadows  in  which 
Violet  had  laid  the  scene  of  her  school-girl  novel ;  crossed  the 
meadows  by  narrow  paths,  which  were  dark  enough  on  this 
dusky  night  and  at  length  got  into  the  broad  highway  that  was 
lighted  by  gas-lamps.  The  two  figures  in  black,  both  veiled, 
were  about  the  only  persons  visible  on  this  Christmas  evening. 
As  Violet  had  done,  but  with  less  oppression  of  heart,  they 
glanced  in  at  the  brilliantly  lighted  windows  they  passed 
from  time  to  time,  and  heard  the  merry  sounds  of  music  and 
dancing. 

But  of  all  the  houses  they  saw  on  that  dark  night  none  was 
so  brilliant  as  that  at  which  they  finally  paused,  up  here  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill.  It  was  a  blaze  of  light  in  all  directions, 
including  a  spacious  conservatory,  the  luminous  pink  and 
white  blinds  of  which  were  visible  from  the  gate.  The  glass- 
covered  portico  leading  up  to  the  door  was  lighted  by  many- 
colored  lamps  ;  it  was  cleaf  that  high  festivities  were  going  on 
within. 

Now.  at  the  moment  when  these  two  visitors  presented 
themselves  dinner  was  over,  but  the  ladies  had  not  left  the 
dining-room,  and  the  butler  was  still  there  busy  with  the  wine  ; 
while  the  only  person  who  happened  to  be  in  the  hall  when 
the  bell  was  rung  was  the  sister  of  one  of  the  servants,  a  young 
girl  who  had  been  engaged  as  an  auxiliary  for  the  evening. 
She  opened  the  door. 

"  Is  Mr.  Miller  at  home — I  mean  young  Mr.  Miller  ? " 
said  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  girl,  rather  timidly.  She  thought 
it  was  an  unusual  time  for  a  visit. 

"  Will  you  please  take  my  card  to  him,  and  say  I  should 
like  to  see  him  for  a  moment  ?     I  will  not  detain  him." 

The  girl  took  the  card.  But  she  could  not  leave  one  who 
was  so  obviously  a  lady  at  the  door  ;  much  less  could  she  ask 
her  to  take  a  seat  in  the  hall.  On  her  own  responsibility, 
therefore,  she  asked  the  two  visitors  if  they  would  step  into 
the  drawing-room,  while  she  took  the  card  to  Mr.  Miller. 
Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter  entered. 

Those  two  black  figures  looked  strange  in  this  great  room, 
which  was  all  a  blaze  of  satin,  white,  and  gold.  In  anticipa- 
tion of  the  ladies  coming  in  from  the  dining-room,  the  candles 
had  been  lighted  up  round  the  walls,  and  there  was  a  huge 
fire  throwing  pink  colors  on  the  gleaming  white  tiles  of  the 
hearth.      Then   the   decorations  :  the  long  festoons  of  ivy 


UNINVITED  GUESTS.  345 

leaves,  the  devices  in  holly  and  mistletoe,  the  beautiful  flowers 
placed  around  the  spacious  apartment — all  this  was  a  sight  to 
see,  if  the  two  strangers  had  been  thinking  of  such  things. 

Mr.  George  Miller  had  earned  some  little  reputation  as  an 
orator  down  Sydenham  way,  where  the  people  are  much  given 
to  dinner-parties  and  other  local  festivities  at  which  healths 
are  proposed.  How  this  Scotch  custom  got  transferred  to 
Sydenham  is  at  present  a  mystery.  Among  certain  classes  of 
Scotch  people  it  is  almost  impossible  for  half  a  dozen  persons 
to  dine  together  without  some  one  at  the  end  of  dinner  rising 
up  and  making  a  speech  about  some  one  else,  who,  in  his 
turn,  feels  bound  to  propose  some  other  guest's  health. 
Whether  any  colony  of  a  people,  who,  however  taciturn  in 
general,  are  prone  to  gabbling  after  dinner,  ever  settled  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Sydenham,  I  leave  to  antiquarians  to  discuss; 
but  it  is  the  fact  that  the  young  men  of  Sydenham  are,  above 
all  others,  trained  from  their  youth  to  propose,  and  respond 
to,  at  a  moment's  notice,  such  toasts  as  "  The  Ladies,"  "  Ab- 
sent Friends,"  and  the  like,  and  that  they  acquire  this  envia- 
ble gift  by  practice  in  comparatively  small  social  circles."* 
However,  on  this  occasion  George  Miller  had  some  excuse 
for  being  on  his  feet.  He  was  proposing  the  health  of  his 
niece.  Miss  Maud  Leicester,  who  had  just  been  brought  in  in 
a  high  chair  with  a  bar  across.  Miss  Maud  paid  not  the  least 
heed  to  all  the  beautiful  things  that  were  being  said  about 
her,  but  \vas  making  ferocious  attacks  on  an  orange  which  she 
found  much  difficulty  in  holding.  She  looked  up,  however, 
when  every  body  called  out  her  name  and  drank  a  glass  of 
wine  to  her,  and  just  at  the  moment  the  small  maid-servant 
entered  the  room,  and  placed  Mrs.  Warrener's  card  before 
the  young  master. 

Mr.  Miller  was  alarmed,  and  looked  it.  He  begged  to  be 
excused  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  left  the  room.  When  he 
found  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter  awaiting  him,  he 
hurriedly  asked  if  any  thing  were  the  matter  with  Mr.  Drum- 
mond. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  making  a  desperate  effort  to  re- 
main calm,  "  my  brother  is  getting  on  very  well.  It  is  about 
another  matter.  Mr.  Miller,  do  you  know  whether  Violet 
North  is  alive  ?  " 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  startled  him ;  he  had  not 

*  I  am  informed  that  commercial  travelers  are  greatly  addicted  to  the 
making  of  speeches  after  dinner.  This  may  arise  from  their  having  so 
frequently  to  dine  together  in  country  inns,  with  no  other  form  of  intel- 
lectual exercise  to  fall  back  upon. 


346  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

been  prepared  for  it.  He  only  stared  at  her  in  confusion  and 
bewilderment ;  he  had  not  an  answer  ready. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Miller,"  cried  Amy  Warrener,  with  a  pathetic  en- 
treaty in  her  voice,  "  I  can  see  you  know  where  she  is — she  is 
alive  !     You  will  tell  us  where  Violet  is  ?  " 

"Really — "  said  he,  and  then  he  stopped  in  vexatious  em- 
barrassment ;  for,  short  of  a  downright  lie,  there  was  scarcely 
a  word  he  could  say  that  would  not  commit  him,  while  si- 
lence would  be  nearly  as  fatal  to  the  promise  he  had  given 
Violet.  "  Really — this  is  most  extraordinary —  Violet  North 
alive —    And  you  come  to  me  ! " 

"Yes,  we  come  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  bitterly. 
"  Can  you  deny  that  she  is  alive  ?  Can  you  deny  that  you 
have  kept  this  knowledge  to  yourself  ? — for  what  purposes  I 
can  not  tell — and  have  looked  on  at  our  misery,  and  the  mis- 
ery of  her  relatives,  without  a  touch  of  pity  ?  Oh,  I  •  am 
ashamed  to  think  of  it !  " 

Well,  George  Miller  began  to  grow  angry.  It  became  clear 
that,  however  Violet's  friends  had  come  to  know  of  her  exist- 
ence, the  whole  pack  of  them  would  be  down  upon  him — he, 
poor  innocent,  having  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  matter  than 
the  man  in  the  moon.  It  was  too  bad.  Here  he  was  about 
to  be  accused  of  all  sorts  of  things,  with  his  mouth  shut  by 
that  promise  so  that  he  could  not  say  a  word  in  his  defense. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  he  ;  "  what 
makes  you  think  that  Violet  is  alive  ? " 

"  Can  you  deny  that  you  know  she  is  alive  .'* "  said  Mrs. 
Warrener,  warmly. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  with  an  uneasy  laugh,  "  this  is  madness — 
pure  madness.  If  I  had  known  she  was  alive,  why  should  I 
have  concealed  it?  What  could  I  gain  by  concealing  it.'* 
Why,  the  thing  is  so  absurd  !  But,  tell  me,  what  has  suggested 
all  this  to  you  t     Why  do  you  think  she  is  alive  .''  " 

Mrs.  Warrener  did  not  answer  his  questions ;  she  believed 
them  to  be  mere  empty  phrases.  It  was  clear  to  her,  from 
his  refusal  to  deny  his  knowledge  of  Violet's  existence,  that 
all  this  wild  story  was  true ;  and  that  her  brother's  sudden 
and  strange  interpretation  of  the  message  was  something  more 
than  the  morbid  fancy  of  a  sick  man. 

"  And  so  you  will  not  tell  us  where  Violet  is  ?"  she  said, 
firmly. 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  opened  by  a  servant,  who  did 
not  know  there  was  any  body  in  the  drawing-room,  and  the 
ladies  from  the  dining-room  trooped  in.  Certainly  they  looked 
sufficiently  astonished  to  find  Mr.  Miller,  obviously  in  great 


UNINVITED  GUESTS.  347 

embarrassment,  standing  in  earnest  conversation  with  those 
two  persons  dressed  in  deep  mourning ;  and,  indeed,  the  two 
black  figures  formed  a  singular  contrast  to  the  blaze  of  costume 
worn  by  Mrs.  Miller  and  her  friends. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  young  man,  hastily,  to  a  tall  and  stately 
woman,  fair  and  good-looking,  who  wore  heavy  bracelets  ;  "  let 
me  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter :  you 
have  heard  me  speak  of  them." 

Mrs.  Miller  bowed  coldly  :  she  thought  it  was  an  inopportune 
moment  for  a  visit. 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  why  my  daughter  and  myself  are  here 
at  such  an  hour,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  courage,  and  she 
spoke  rapidly  and  with  great  emotion.  "  Some  months  ago  a 
young  friend  of  ours — she  was  our  greatest  friend — was  sup- 
posed to  be  drowned,  when  she  was  on  a  visit  with  us  to  the 
Highlands.  She  was  not  drowned.  She  ran  away — why,  I  do 
not  know ;  and  we  have  mourned  for  her  as  if  she  were  dead, 
for  she  was  very  dear  to  us.  And  now  your  son  here,  who 
knows  where  she  is,  who  has  allowed  her  relatives  to  grieve 
for  her  all  this  time,  he  will  not  say  a  single  word  to  restore 
the  girl  to  her  friends.  Are  you  surprised"  that — that  I 
should  intrude  on  you,  when  that  is  what  I  have  come  to  ask 
him  ? " 

Her  voice  trembled  with  indignation,  and  she  made  no  effort 
to  conceal  her  story  from  these  strangers,  who  looked  en  in 
amazement. 

"  George,  what  is  this  ? "  said  the  tall,  fair  woman,  remaining 
quite  calm.      "  Is  it  about  Miss  North  ? " 

His  face  was  red  with  vexation,  and  there  was  an  angry 
frown  on  his  brows.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  got  hold 
of  Violet  at  that  moment  to  say, "  Look  here  ;  this  is  a  pretty 
thing  you  have  let  me  in  for !  "  But  as  it  was,  he  had  to  an- 
swer something.     It  was  an  ugly  indictment. 

"I  suppose  it  is  about  Miss  North,"  said  he,  sulkily;  "she 
caused  me  enough  trouble  when  she  was  alive,  and  it  seems  I 
have  not  done  with  it  yet.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Warrener  will  tell 
you  what  reasons  she  has  for  believing  all  this  extraordinary 
story ;  I  can't  make  them  out." 

"  If  I  were  a  man,"  said  the  pale,  little  woman,  with  increas- 
ing indignation,  "I  should  be  ashamed  to  make  such  pre- 
tenses. If  you  have  had  no  pity  on  the  girl's  family  or  on  her 
friends  all  this  time,  at  least  do  something  to  repair  the  wrong 
by  speaking  now.     Mr.  Miller,  where  is  Violet  \  " 

She  suddenly  altered  her  tone  to  one  of  piteous  entreaty. 
"I  don't  know  where  she  is,"  he  answered,  angrily;  "I  don't 


343  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

care  where   she  is — I  don't  want  to  know  any  thing   about 
her — I  wish  to  goodness  she  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea !  " 

"George,"  his  mother  said,  severely,  "this  is  strange  lan- 
guage. Remember  you  are  speaking  to  a  lady.  And  you  cer- 
tainly seem  to  suggest  that  Miss  North  is  not  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea,  as  her  friends  supposed  she  was.  Do  you  know  where 
she  is  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  anytning  about  it." 

"Ask   him,    Mrs.    Miller,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  suddenly 
bursting  into  tears,  "  ask  him  if  he  can  deny  that  our  Violet 
is  alive.     Ask  him  if  he  has  not  seen  her — if  he  does  not 
know  that  she  is  alive  ?  " 
"  George,  answer  at  once  !  " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  answering  such  questions  ?  Doesn't 
everybody  know  the  girl  is  dead  ?  " 

His  mother  regarded  him  narrowly,  and  said,  slowly, 
"  You  must  answer  me,  then.     Do  you  believe  the  girl  to 
be  dead  ? " 

"  It  is  none  of  my  business,"  said  he,  impatiently ;  "  if  her 
friends  think  she  is  alive,  let  them  find  her.  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  her.     I  tell  you  I  don't  know  where  she  is." 

"  Oh,  shame  on  you ! "  said  Mrs.  Warrener ;  "  I  did  not 
believe  a  human  being  could  be  so  cruel,  so  indifferent,  so 
heartless.  But  I  will  appeal  to  the  girl's  father ;  it  is  he  who 
must  take  the  matter  into  his  hands.  Mrs.  Miller,  I  beg  your 
pardon,  and  your  friends'  pardon,  for  this  intrusion.  I  am 
sorry  to  have  caused  you  trouble.     Come,  Amy." 

The  little  woman  was  crying.  She  merely  bowed  as  she 
turned  away,  but  Mrs.  Miller  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it 
warmly,  and  accompanied  her  into  the  hall. 

"  All  this  is  very  strange,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  she,  in  kind- 
ly accents,  "  and  the  conduct  of  my  son,  if  he  really  knows 
about  this  girl  being  alive,  is  most  inexcusable.  Believe  me, 
I  will  see  what  can  be  done  to  get  the  matter  properly  ex- 
plained. Don't  think  the  worst  of  him  just  yet ;  there  may 
be  some  reason  we  don't  know." 

Many  strange  and  conflicting  emotions  passed  through  Mrs. 
Warrener's  heart  as  she  and  her  daughter  went  home  through 
the  dusky  night,  and  she  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be  glad  or 
sad  when  she  informed  her  brother  of  the  result  of  her  mission. 
"  Amy,"  she  said,  "  you  saw  his  face.  Can  you  doubt  that 
he  knows  ? " 

"  Not  in  the  least,  mamma,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 
"  And  then,  James,  his  absolute  refusal  to  deny  that  he  had 
seen  her  since  we  were  in  the  Highlands.     His  mother  pressed 


A  BRINGER  OF  EVIL.  349 

him  to  answer ;  it  was  no  use.  It  is  as  clear  to  me  as  noon- 
day that  he  knows  where  Violet  is." 

"That  is  not  much  matter,"  said  the  invalid,  absently; 
"  the  great  fact  is  that  Violet  still  remains  to  us.  We  may 
see  her  yet,  coming  in  by  the  door  there,  with  the  bashful, 
amused  look  she  used  to  have.  We  will  ask  her  no  questions 
at  all ;    she  has  a  right  to  her  own  secrets." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  James,"  said  his  sister,  with  some 
touch  of  indignation  in  her  voice ;  "  but  I  can  not  help  think- 
ing of  all  we  have  suffered,  and  you  especially,  all  on  account 
of  this  foolish  trick.  What  was  the  cause  of  your  illness  ? 
I  know  very  well.  And  her  poor  father,  too.  When  I  think 
of  that  young  man.  Miller,  and  of  his  having  known  this  all 
along,  and  his  hypocrisy  in  coming  here — oh,  I  don't  know 
what  to  think ;  I  don't  know  which  of  the  two  is  the  w^orse." 

"  Sarah,  you  must  say  no  word  against  Violet.  You  know 
nothing  against  her;  you  know  nothing  of  the  circumstances. 
It  is  enough  that  she  is  alive." 

The  small  maid-servant  brought  in  the  Christmas  dinner ; 
it  was  not  a  gorgeous  feast.  The  invalid  had  his  plate  placed 
on  a  chair  by  the  side  of  his  couch.  When  the  banquet  was 
over,  he  turned  to  his  niece. 

"  Amy,"  said  he,  "  fill  up  these  three  glasses.  Sarah,  we 
are  going  to  drink  health  and  happiness  to  our  Violet — long 
life  and  health  and  happiness,  and  many  more  Christmas 
evenings,  pleasanter  than  I  suspect  this  one  has  been  to  her. 
I  never  thought  we  should  be  able  to  do  that.  Wherever 
she  is,  whatever  may  have  been  her  reasons  for  leaving  us, 
whether  we  ever  see  her  again  or  not,  no  matter.  Here  is  to 
her  long  life  and  happiness,  and  God  bless  her !  " 

Mrs.  Warrener  looked  at  the  lean  and  trembling  hand  that 
held  up  the  glass,  and  there  was  a  doubtful  "  Amen  ! "  in  hex 
heart. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

A    BRINGER    OF    EVIL. 

George  Miller  was  to  have  spent  the  two  days  following 
Christmas  with  this  family  party  which  had  been  gathered  to- 
gether at  Sydenham  Hill ;  but  after  the  visit  of  Mrs.  Warrener 
and  her  daughter  he  saw  fit  to  change  his  intention.  For 
the  rest  of  that  evening  even  his  own  mother  held  aloof  from 


350  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

him  :  again  and  again  he  vowed  to  himself  that  it  was  really 
too  bad,  but  that  this  was  what  always  came  of  one's  getting 
one's  self  mixed  up  with  the  romantic  sentimentalities  of  a 
woman. 

Next  morning  he  left  the  house,  and  went  straight  up  to  the 
lodgings  which  he  understood  that  Violet  North  occupied. 
The  more  he  thought  of  his  wrongs,  the  more  angry  he  be- 
came, until,  when  he  knocked  at  the  door,  he  was  simply  in 
a  towering  rage.  He  would  have  an  end  of  all  this  mystery. 
He  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  this  concealment. 
It  was  all  very  well  for  her  to  go  off  scot-free,  leaving  him 
under  the  imputation — against  which  he  could  bring  no  testi- 
mony whatever — of  having  inveigled  the  girl  away  from  her 
friends^and  aided  her  in  a  shameful  piece  of  deceit.  No,  he 
would  have  no  more  of  this. 

The  landlady  herself  came  to  the  door  :  as  it  happened, 
she  was  in  a  rage  too,  for  she  had  just  been  quarreling  with 
one  of  her  domestics. 

"  Does  Miss  North — I  mean  Miss  Main — live  here  ? " 
asked  the  young  man. 

''  No  she  don't." 

He  was  staggered.  He  looked  at  the  number  over  the 
door ;  he  had  made  no  mistake. 

"  She  did  live  here,"  continued  the  landlady,  regarding  his 
bewilderment  with  a  morose  satisfaction.  "  She's  goin'  away 
o'  Monday." 

"  On  Monday  !  "  said  he.     "  And  where  is  she  now  }  " 

"  I  don't  know.     Gone  away  for  a  'oliday,  I  believe." 

"  But  surely  she  will  be  back  here  before  she  goes  to — New 
York  ? " 

"  I  suppose  she  will,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  gloomy  in- 
difference, "  'cause  her  things  are  still  in  her  room.  She'll  be 
back  o'  Monday." 

"  You  don't  know  what  hour  she  will  call  for  her  luggage  t  " 

"  No." 

'*  Thank  you.     Good-morning." 

She  shut  the  door ;  and  he  was  left  standing  there,  in 
about  as  pleasant  a  predicament,  according  to  his  notions,  as 
had  ever  entrapped  a  human  being.  Doubtless  she  had  her 
passage  taken.  She  would  come  up  at  some  unexpected 
hour  on  Monday,  whisk  off  her  luggage  in  a  four-wheeled 
cab,  and  be  on  her  way  to  Liverpool,  or  Holyhead,  or  South- 
hampton, before  any  one  was  any  the  wiser.  Nay,  if  he  were 
to  stand  in  Great  Titchfield  Street  from  early  morning  until 
she  appeared,  how  could  he  prevent  her  going  1     He  could 


A  B RINGER   OF  EVIL.  35! 

not  appeal  to  the  police.  It  is  true,  he  could  scold  her,  and 
show  her  the  rough  usage  he  was  experiencing  all  through 
her  folly ;  but  he  could  not  compel  her  to  release  him  from 
the  promise  she  had  exacted ;  while  he  looked  forward  to 
the  pleasing  prospect  of  a  somewhat  warm  interview  with  Sir 
Acton  North. 

He  walked  away  from  Great  Titchfield  Street  somewhat 
gloomily.  Besides  his  sense  of  personal  injury,  he  had  an 
uncomfortable  feeling  that  a  cleverer  person  than  himself — 
one  like  Mr.  Drummond,  for  example,  who  was  familiar  with 
hair-splitting — could  have  hit  upon  some  fair  and  good  rea- 
son for  pitching  over  this  promise  which  would  save  his  con- 
science. He  himself,  in  his  own  way,  tried  to  find  out  some 
such  salve.  What  was  a  promise  ?  Not  any  thing  in  itself  ; 
but  only  of  use  and  value  as  long  as  it  secured  its  object. 
Very  well,  then.  What  did  Violet  want  ?  To  get  away  from 
England  to  some  place  where  no  one  would  ever  hear  of  her 
again,  where  she  should  be  as  one  dead.  Very  well,  again. 
She  should  have  her  wish.  She  should  leave  on  Monday  for 
New  York.  Her  wishes  would  be  respected.  But  after  she 
was  gone,  and  all  she  wanted  secured,  why  should  he  con- 
tinue to  be  the  victim  of  a  blunder  t  Why  should  not  he 
confess  the  truth  to  Sir  Acton  North  and  Mr.  Drummond, 
and  clear  himself  "i  That  could  not  affect  Violet  in  any  way. 
He  would  not  tell  them  whither  she  had  gone — only  that  she 
had  left  England  without  leaving  behind  her  any  information 
as  to  her  future  plans.  Moreover,  this  would  not  be  telling 
them  that  she  was  alive  ;  for  they  seemed  to  know  that  al- 
ready. And  as  they  knew  that,  he  had  not  the  slightest 
doubt  in  the  world  that  some  blunder  of  hers  had  conveyed 
the  information  to  them  ;  and  was  he  to  bear  the  brunt  of 
any  more  of  her  caprices  ? 

Meanwhile  Violet  North,  with  a  lighter  heart  than  she  had 
known  for  many  a  day,  was  seated  in  a  railway-carriage  and 
being  swiftly  carried  down  to  Windsor.  The  forenoon  w^as 
singularly  bright  and  clear ;  the  sunshine  shone  on  the  mead- 
ows that  had  been  washed  green  by  the  recent  heavy  rains, 
on  the  brown  plowed  fields,  where  the  flocks  of  rooks  and 
starlings  were  busy,  and  on  the  dark  lines  of  copse  that  were 
here  and  there  almost  black  against  the  pale  blue-and-white 
sky.  It  seemed  to  her  that  now  at  last  she  was  escaping 
from  the  prison  that  had  hemmed  her  in  since  her  return 
from  Scotland.  All  her  preparations  for  her  flight  into  the 
freedom  of  the  Far  West  had  been  made.  The  iDitter  agony 
of  parting  was  over.     Soon  she  would  stand  on  the  deck  of  a 


•352  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

noble  vessel,  and,  looking  back  to  the  receding  land  of  her 
birth,  would  know  that  her  great  sacrifice  was  now  accom- 
plished, and  that  she  was  leaving  that  dearest  of  all  her 
friends  with  the  prospect  daily  coming  nearer  him  of  a  return 
to  his  old  glad  ways,  and  health,  and  cheerful  spirits. 

She  already^elt  herself  enfranchised.  There  was  now  an 
end  to  the  weary  days  over  the  desk,  to  the  lonely  evenings 
in  the  small  room,  to  the  constant  fear  of  discovery,  and  to 
the  temptation  to  wander  over  to  the  south  side  of  the  river, 
with  all  the  sore  bitterness  of  heart  that  these  visits  occa- 
sioned. She  had  made  her  last  pilgrimage  in  that  direction 
the  night  before  ;  and  it  had  been  a  terrible  one.  All  her 
life  through  she  would  never  forget  that  night — the  still, 
dark,  Christmas-night  ;  her  ghost-like  stealing  up  to  the  cot- 
tage in  which  her  friends  sat  together ;  her  unspoken,  unheard, 
but  agonizing  farewell.  No  more  of  that.  The  brighter 
days  were  coming.  Had  she  not  said  that  in  the  future  she 
would  always  think  of  those  former  companions  of  hers  as 
cheerful  and  happy — wandering  in  the  sweet  air  of  Highlands 
— gay  with  the  sports  of  hill-side  and  loch — enjoying  the  pres- 
ent, and  forgetful  of  all  the  old  bitterness  of  the  past  .'* 

So  she  interested  herself  in  the  various  out-of-door  sights 
of  this  bright  forenoon — the  young  wheat,  the  leafless  or- 
chards, the  heavy  wagons  laboring  along  the  muddy  roads,  and 
fields  showing  here  and  there  patches  of  water,  the  result  of 
the  recent  rains.  She  began  to  look  out  for  signs  of  the 
great  floods  of  which  she  had  heard;  and  about  Drayton 
those  patches  of  water  in  the  fields  became  more  marked. 
Then  she  caught  a  glimpse,  before  getting  to  Slough,  of  the 
great,  spectral  bulk  of  Windsor's  walls  and  turrets  rising, 
pale  and  ethereal,  into  the  blue  and  white  overhead.  On 
again  ;  and  now  she  caught  sight  of  lines  of  white  behind  the 
distant  trees,  and  hedges  seemed  to  be  growing  in  a  lake. 
But  what  were  these  scattered  objects  to  the  richly  colored 
and  brilliant  picture  that  lay  before  her  as  the  train  ran  in 
towards  Windsor  ?  The  great  castle,  with  its  lofty  towers, 
was  a  mass  of  shadow,  and  so  was  the  picturesque  group  of 
houses  underneath  it  by  the  river ;  hut  here,  close  at  hand, 
the  brilliant  sun  shone  on  the  red  houses  and  the  silvery-gray 
turrets  of  Eton,  while  all  around  was  a  vast  sheet  of  smooth 
v/ater  reflecting'the  blues  and  whites  of  the  sky.  This  im- 
mense lake  was  broken  only  by  lines  of  pollard  willows,  and 
by  some  groups  of  trees  in  the  distance  that  seemed  to  have 
still  about  them  some  touch  of  autumn  yellow.  Boys  were 
paddling  boats  up  the  Eton  lanes ;  still  farther  a-field  a  great 


A  B RINGER  OF  EVIL.  353 

punt  was  going  the  round  of  some  workmen's  cottages,  which 
were  completely  surrounded  by  the  water. 

Both  Mr.  Dowse  and  his  son  were  awaiting  her  at  the 
station ;  they  had  driven  over  in  a  dog-cart.  When  Violet 
got  up  beside  Mr.  Dowse,  senior,  who  was  driving,  he  prom- 
ised her  a  rare  sight.  Edward  Dowse  got  up  behind,  and 
away  they  went. 

They  paused  for  a  moment  on  Eton  Bridge  to  look  at  the 
mighty  volume  of  yellow-green  water  which,  coming  from  the 
great  lake  that  stretched  all  across  the  Brocas  meadows, 
hurled  itself  against  the  massive  stone  piers,  and  then,  rush- 
ing through  between,  spread  itself  out  far  and  wide  again, 
indicating  only  here  and  there,  by  a  summer-house,  or  some 
such  isolated  object,  the  gardens  and  orchards  it  had  sub- 
merged. They  drove  along  the  winding  thoroughfare,  catch- 
ing here  and  there  a  glimpse  of  a  boat  at  the  end  of  a  street. 
As  they  passed  out  into  the  country,  they  found  the  Playing- 
fields  a  sheet  of  olive-green  water,  the  large  elms  only  being 
visible.  From  Fifteen-arch  Bridge  the  view  was  picturesque 
enough — the  isolated  lines  of  trees  lighted  up  by  the  sun  ; 
the  great  plain  of  water  with  its  dashes  of  blue  ;  here  and 
there  a  red-brick  house  surrounded  by  evergreens ;  and  right 
in  front  of  them  a  group  of  people  waiting  to  be  ferried  across 
a  part  of  the  road  which  the  floods  had  submerged. 

"  How  shall  we  get  across  ?  "  she  asked. 

They  were  standing  still  on  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  to 
have  a  look  at  the  scene  in  front  of  them. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Dowse,  carelessly.  "  The  water 
is  not  very  deep." 

Perhaps  he  was  a  little  too  careless  ;  for  on  starting  to  go 
down  the  slope  to  this  hollow  where  the  water  lay,  the  horse 
he  was  driving  stumbled  badly,  and,  on  recovering,  got  an 
admonishing  cut  from  his  master.  Whether  this  trifling 
accident  had  fluttered  his  nerves,  or  whether  some  sudden 
gleam  of  the  water  at  his  feet  startled  him,  can  only  be 
guessed ;  but,  at  all  events,  the  animal  all  at  once  became 
unmanageably  restive.  He  reared  and  plunged,  splashing 
the  water  about  him,  and  causing  the  women  who  were 
standing  by — waiting  for  the  punt — to  scream  with  alarm. 

"  Hold  tight !  "  Mr.  Dowse  called  out  to  Violet. 

The  warning  was  just  given  in  time  ;  for  the  next  instant 
the  horse  made  a  sudden  plunge  to  one  side  of  the  road, 
which  nearly  threw  the  dog-cart  bodily  into  the  deeper  water 
by  the  side  of  the  highway;  and  then  it  dashed  madly 
forward.  The  driver  had  no  sort  of  control  over  it;  but 
23 


354  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

fortunately  the  road  in  front  was  pretty  straight.  And  so 
away  they  went  at  a  furious  pace,  to  the  no  small  consterna- 
tion of  one  or  two  people  who  were  coming  along  the  road  ; 
and  so  intent  were  Mr.  Dowse  and  Violet  in  watching  the 
excited  animal  that  was  now  placing  their  lives  in  jeopardy 
that  they  had  not  the  slightest  notion  that  they  alone  were 
the  occupants  of  the  vehicle.  When  the  horse  swerved  in  the 
hollow,  young  Dowse  had  been  pitched  clean  off  the  back- 
seat of  the  dog-cart,  falling  heavily  on  the  wooden  palings 
by  the  side  of  the  road. 

The  way  was  clear  before  them  ;  and  in  time  the  runaway 
horse  showed  symptoms  of  moderating  his  speed.  He  was 
finally  stopped  by  a  wagoner,  who,  happening  to  look  back, 
and  seeing  what  had  occurred,  had  the  presence  of  mind  to 
draw  his  huge  wagon  right  across  the  road,  completely  block- 
ing all  passage.  There  was  no  collision.  The  man  got  hold 
of  the  head  of  the  animal,  which  now  stood  trembling  and 
excited ;  and  then  it  was  that  Mr.  Dowse  discovered  that  his 
son  was  missing. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  said,  "  where  is  Ted  1 " 

They  looked  back  ;  there  were  one  or  two  people  running 
toward  them.  When  these  came  up,  the  news  was  brief,  but 
terrible  enough.  The  young  gentleman  had  been  pitched 
right  on  his  head.  He  was  lying  insensible.  They  had  sent 
in  to  Eton  for  a  surgeon. 

"  Go  back  to  him,"  said  Violet,  instantly,  to  her  com- 
panion ;  "  I  will  wait  here  with  the  dog-cart." 

Mr.  Dowse  seemed  stupefied.  He  did  not  think  what  he 
was  doing  in  leaving  this  girl  in  charge  of  a  frightened  horse, 
even  although  the  great  wagon  still  blocked  the  way. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "  stay  here  for  a  minute — I  must  see 
— ^what  has  happened." 

He  set  out  to  run.  He  met  one  or  two  country  people  ;  he 
asked  them  no  questions.  Then  he  came  in  sight  of  a  group 
of  persons  standing  by  the  roadside,  not  far  from  the  spot 
where  the  horse  had  bolted. 

The  young  man  was  in  the  middle  of  that  gfoup,  his  head 
supported  on  a  friendly  knee.  He  was  apparently  lifeless  ; 
not  even  a  groan  escaped  him.  There  was  no  outward  sign 
of  injury,  except  a  slight  trace  of  blood  about  the  lips. 

"  Stand  back  !  "  the  father  said,  sternly,  to  the  small  and 
eager  crowd.  "  Stand  back,  and  give  him  air  !  You  have 
sent  for  a  surgeon  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

*'  Ted !   Teddy ! "   the  elder  man  cried,  with  some  vague 


A  B RINGER  OF  EVIL.  355 

hope  of  arousing  his  son  to  consciousness.  "  Are  you  badly- 
hurt,  lad  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer.     He  looked  despairingly  around. 

"  Is  there  a  drop  of  brandy  to  be  had — or  whiskey  ? " 

There  was  no  answer  to  that,  either.  Fortunately,  at  this 
moment  a  brougham  came  along  the  road,  the  only  occupant 
of  which  was  an  old  lady  who,  although  unknown  personally 
to  the  Dowses,  was  a  neighbor  of  theirs,  and  knew  them  by 
sight.  When  she  discovered  what  had  occurred,  she  instantly 
placed  her  carriage  at  Mr.  Dowse's  disposal.  The  apparently 
lifeless  body  was  lifted  in ;  the  father  followed  ;  and  the 
coachman  was  bid  to  drive  gently  on  to  The  Laurels. 

They  came  up  to  the  point  at  which  Violet  had  been  left. 
She  was  now  down  in  the  road. 

"  What  has  happened  ? "  she  said,  with  a  pale  face,  to  Mr. 
Dowse  ;  but  the  sight  she  saw  inside  the  carriage  was  enough. 

"  Will  you  get  some  of  the  people  to  bring  the  dog-cart 
along  ?  "  said  Mr.  Dowse.  It  was  not  an  occasion  for  cere- 
mony. 

They  drove  on  again  with  that  mournful  burden  ;  and  she, 
having  given  the  wagoner  half  a  crown  to  leave  his  wagon  for 
a  few  minutes  and  take  the  horse  and  dog-cart  on  to  Mr. 
Dowse's  house,  walked  slowly  after.  There  were  gloomy 
forebodings  in  her  mind.  That  slowly  driven  carriage  away 
along  there  seemed  to  be  like  a  hearse.  Why  was  it  that, 
wherever  she  went,  death,  or  the  semblance  of  death,  dogged 
her  footsteps,  and  was  forever  plucking  the  sunshine  out  of 
the  sky  ?  Her  coming  seemed  to  be  the  signal  for  the  coming 
of  all  misfortunes  ;  birds  of  evil  omen  followed  after  her  ;  she 
was  as  one  doomed,  association  with  whom  was  fatal. 

Trembling  and  full  of  fear,  she  walked  up  to  the  house. 
She  dreaded  to  hear  the  wail  of  a  mother  over  her  only  son  ; 
she  imagined  the  reproach  with  which  that  mother  would  raise 
her  eyes  from  her  son's  pallid  face  and  fix  them  on  this 
stranger,  who  seemed  the  herald  and  the  occasion  of  all  evil 
things. 

The  poor  mother  had  no  such  thoughts  in  her  head  :  even 
if  this  were  a  time  for  affixing  responsibility,  she  certainly 
would  not  have  considered  Violet  to  be  the  cause  of  this  la- 
mentable  accident.  But,  all  the  same,  the  girl  was  oppressed 
by  some  strange  feeling  that  it  was  dangerous  for  any  one  to 
be  linked,  in  however  slight  a  degree,  with  one  whom  evil 
fortune  had  marked  out  for  its  own ;  and  so  it  was  that  she 
did  not  dare  to  go  into  that  room  where,  as  she  knew,  the 
young  man  lay,  watched  by  his  agonized  parents.     All  the 


356  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

doors  were  open.  She  walked  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
sat  down  alone.  Then  she  heard  the  doctor's  carriage  drive 
up  to  the  front  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

REPENTANCE. 


On  the  morning  after  Christmas,  Mrs.  Warrener  carried 
her  great  news  up  to  Lady  North ;  and  that  circumspect, 
prim  little  woman  was  a  good  deal  more  agitated  than  usual, 
and  her  cold,  observant  gray  eyes  were  full  of  wonder. 

"  It  is  a  strange  story,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"  Do  you  believe  it  yourself  ?  Can  you  believe  it  ?  You 
know  the  fancies  that  get  into  the  heads  of  persons  who  are 
ill ;  and  you  know  your  brother  has  been  delirious." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  "and  my  first  im- 
pression last  night  was  that  he  was  wandering  again  ;  but  no 
— not  at  all ;  and  then,  as  I  have  told  you,  Mr.  Miller  con- 
firms my  belief.  I  am  sure  he  knows  all  about  her.  I  want 
Sir  Acton  to  go  him ;  his  authority  will  get  at  the  truth." 

"  My  husband  is  in  Belgium,  Mrs.  Warrener.  Do  you 
think,  do  you  really  think,  I  shall  be  justified  in  telegraphing 
to  him  to  come  home  ? " 

"  Most  decidedly,"  said  Violet's  friend,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

"  You  are  so  sure  all  this  is  true  ? " 

"  I  am." 

"  He  will  think  I  have  gone  mad  if  I  tell  him  why  he  is  to 
come  home." 

"Then  don't  tell  him.  Merely  say  that  he  is  urgently 
wanted." 

"  And  in  the  mean  while — " 

"  In  the  mean  while,  we  ought  to  put  an  advertisement  in 
the  papers  which  may  catch  Violet's  eye.  And  perhaps  you 
might  go  to  Mr.  Miller  and  beg  him  to  tell  you  -where  Violet 
is.     He  may  be  kinder  to  you  than  he  was  to  me." 

"  But— but — "  said  Lady  North,  still  a  little  bewildered, 
"  what  could  be  his  object  in  concealing  the  fact  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible he  has  been  looking  at  us  all  this  time  wearing  mourn- 
ing for  a  girl  whom  he  knew  to  be  alive  ?  " 

"  That  part  of  it  I  can't  make  out  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  War- 


REPENTANCE.  357 

rener,  rather  wistfulty.  "  But  I  am  sure  that  Violet  is  in 
London." 

The  advertisement  appeared  in  several  of  the  newspapers 
on  the  Monday  morning ;  probably  few  cared  to  pause  and 
speculate  over  the  story  that  lay  behind  such  an  ordinary  no- 
tice as  this  :  "  Violet  N- , —  We  all  know  that  y 021  are  alive 

and  in  London.  Pray  return.  We  will  do  every  thing  you 
can  desire  to  secure  your  happiiiess.^^  But  George  Miller  knew 
the  story ;  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  this  advertisement,  he 
promptly  said  to  himself, 

"  Very  well.  They  all  know,  without  my  telling  them.  I 
have  not  broken  any  promise  ;  it  is  no  fault  of  mine  that  they 
know.  But,  now  they  do  know,  am  I  to  be  made  the  victim 
of  a  pretense  at  concealment  which  is  no  concealment  at 
all  ? " 

That  reasoning  entirely  satisfied  him.  Violet  had  had  her 
wish,  in  so  far  as  she  was  leaving  the  country  without  his 
having  spoken  a  single  word  about  her  being  alive  to  any 
person  ;  and,  so  soon  as  she  had  really  left,  and  disappeared 
without  leaving  any  trace  behind  her,  he  considered  he  would 
be  justified  in  clearing  away  the  suspicions  under  which  he 
had  been  most  unjustly  placed.  By  which  route  would  she 
leave  England  ?  In  any  case,  she  would  be  clear  off  on 
Wednesday  night.  On  Wednesday,  therefore,  he  would  show 
his  friends  how  harshly  they  had  dealt  with  him  ;  and  by  that 
time  Violet  would  be  safe  from  pursuit,  for  neither  he  nor 
they  would  know  when,  or  by  which  line,  she  had  gone  to 
America. 

The  cup  of  his  troubles  and  mortification,  however,  was 
not  yet  full.  On  the  Monday  evening,  just  as  he  was  going 
along  to  his  club,  Lady  North  and  Anatolia  drove  up  to  his 
rooms  in  Half  Moon  Street,  and  stopped  him  on  the  pave- 
ment. 

"  You  will  excuse  our  calling  on  you  at  such  a  time,  Mr. 
Miller ;  but  we  thought  we  should  most  likely  catch  you 
now,"  said  Lady  North. 

He  inwardly  made  use  of  language  which,  had  they  heard 
it,  would  have  frightened  his  two  visitors  out  of  their  wits. 
It  was  too  bad,  he  thought.  Here  he  was  to  undergo  a  rep- 
etition of  the  scene  already  enacted  at  Sydenham  Hill ;  and 
as  it  was  women,  and  always  women,  who  came  to  put  him 
under  a  raking  fire  of  indignant  reproaches,  what  answer 
could  he  make  ?  He  was  not  much  of  a  heroic  person  ;  but 
he  would  twenty  times  rather  have  encountered  the  menaces 
of  Violet's  father. 


3SS  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

"  Will  you  walk  up-stairs  ?  "  said  he,  with  great  courtesy,  as 
he  opened  the  door  with  his  latch-key. 

He  lighted  the  candles  on  the  table. 

"  Can  I  offer  you  some  tea.  Lady  North  ?  A  couple  of 
minutes — " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Lady  North.  She  was  a  little 
frightened ;  and  she  concealed  her  fright  under  a  demeanor 
of  cold  and  proud  reserve.  She  also  seemed  to  add  some 
inches  to  her  stature  as  she  continued,  "  Of  course,  you  know 
why  we  have  come." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  he,  sulkily.  "  Mrs.  War- 
rener  has  been  to  you  with  that  absurd  story," 

"  Is  it  absurd }  "  Lady  North  said,  "  Mr.  Miller,  you  surely 
can  not  mean  to  trifle  with  us  in  such  a  matter.    Is  it  true  .?  " 

"  I  dont  see  why  you  should  come  to  me  at  all,"  said  he, 
becoming  a  little  more  vehement.  "  I  have -had  enough  of  it. 
Mrs.  Warrener  comes  over  to  our  house,  on  a  Christmas 
evening,  when  we  have  a  family  party  gathered  together,  and 
straightway  begins  to  accuse  me,  before  all  these  people,  of 
all  manner  of  things ;  and  of  course,  as  she  is  a  woman,  I 
can't  give  her  the  answer  I  would  give  to  a  man.  I  think  it 
is  rather  hard.  And  now,  I  suppos'e,  you  too,  Lady  North, 
mean  to  do  the  same  thing.     Well,  I  can't  help  it." 

He  affected  an  air  of  resignation.  But  Lady  North  was 
much  cooler  than  Mrs.  Warrener  had  been ;  and  she  was  not 
to  be  put  off  by  this  specious  show  of  injur}'. 

"You  know  very  well,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  she,  calmly,  "  that 
a  single  word  of  yours  would  relieve  you  at  once  from  those 
very  serious  charges.  I  can  not  blame  Mrs.  Warrener.  I 
must  say  I  consider  your  conduct  as  very  strange.  It  ap- 
pears you  can  not  deny  your  being  aware  that  Violet  is 
alive—" 

"  One  minute,  Lady  North,"  said  he,  interrupting  her,  and 
speaking  with  some  decision.  "  There  is  no  use  in  our 
quarreling ;  and  I  can  see  you  are  going  to  say  the  same 
things  that  Mrs.  Warrener  said.  That  won't  do  any  good. 
But  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do ;  if  you  like  to  wait  till 
Wednesday  evening — the  day  after  to-morrow — I  will  tell  you 
all  I  know  about  this  affair.  And  I  won't  tell  you  before 
then." 

"Really,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  his  visitor,  "this  is  the  most  ex- 
traordinary conduct  on  your  part — " 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said  he,  his  temper  rising  again. 
"  But  don't  you  think  that  before  you  find  me  guilty  of  cruelty, 
and  caprice,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  you  might  wait  to  hear  what 


REPENTANCE.  359 

I  have  to  say  ?  And  if  you  would  ask  Mrs.  Warrener  to  be 
present  on  Wednesday  evening,  I  should  be  obliged  to  you. 
I  wish  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  her — " 

"  You  will  allow  me  to  say  I  think  Mrs.  Warrener  has  acted 
most  properly,"  observed  Lady  North,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  precisely,"  said  he,  with  some  bitterness.  "  That  is 
because  you  are  as  ignorant  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
case  as  she  is." 

"  I  hope  Sir  Acton  will  be  home  by  Wednesday  evening," 
said  Lady  North,  not  a  little  anxious  to  turn  the  whole  of  this 
serious  matter  over  to  her  husband. 

"  I  hope  so  too,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  promptly.  "  If  I  am  to 
appear  before  a  family  gathering,  and  be  impeached,  and  be 
put  on  my  defense,  I  prefer  that  a  man  should  be  my  judge." 

"  I  am  sure  no  one  wishes  to  impeach  you,"  said  Lady 
North,  rather  regretfully,  "  if  you  would  only  tell  us  where 
Violet  is." 

He  remained  silent.  He  was  not  to  be  caught  by  his  inno- 
cent invitation. 

"  Then  we  shall  see  you  on  Wednesday  evening,"  she  said, 
rising  to  go.     "  Will  you  come  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he,  for  he  still  had  the  feeling  that 
he  had  been  badly  treated.  "  A  man  going  to  be  hanged  does 
not  have  breakfast  with  the  hangman.  I  am  to  be  tried  and 
convicted,  you  know." 

"  I  am  sorry  if  we  have  judged  your  conduct  harshly,"  said 
Lady  North,  gently.  "  But  you  must  -admit  we  had  some 
cause." 

He  would  admit  nothing  of  the  kind.  After  his  two  visitors 
had  left,  he  walked  along  to  his  club,  and  as  he  walked  his 
mind  was  full  of  thoughts  of  vengeance,  directed  more  partic- 
ularly against  Mrs.  Warrener,  whom  he  regarded  as  in  most 
part  responsible  for  all  his  trouble.  Violet,  of  course,  was 
the  first  cause.  What  business  had  she  to  thrust  these  con- 
ditions upon  him  ;  and  then  to  go  by  some  act  of  folly  or  other 
and  let  them  know  she  was  alone  and  in  London  t  Then 
those  other  women,  complaining,  accusing,  worrying  him,  as 
if  he  was  a  thief  who  had  some  silver  spoons  secreted  about 
his  person  !  He  would  have  it  out  with  them  on  the  Wednes- 
day evening.  He  would  not  suffer  all  this  annoyance  for  noth- 
ing. And  especially  would  he  have  a  retort  ready  for  Mrs. 
Warrener. 

He  had  dinner  by  himself;  and  as  he  brooded  over  all  the 
circumstances  of  this  strange  business,  his  mind,  by  some 
curious  process,  began  to  construct  the  form  of  that  retort. 


360  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

He  was  innocent :  what  if  he  threw  back  on  his  chief  accuser 
the  charge  of  being  the  origin  of  all  this  mischief?  Mrs. 
Warrener  had  plainly  intimated  that  he  was  the  cause  of  Vio- 
let's having  suddenly  left  the  Highlands,  and,  in  consequence, 
of  her  having  inflicted  so  great  an  amount  of  pain  upon  her 
friends  :  what  if  he  boldly  retorted,  at  hap-hazard,  that  she  her- 
self, Mrs.  Warrener,  was  the  cause !  Violet  would  not  be 
there  to  contradict  him,  even  if  it  chanced  that  what  he  said 
was  inaccurate.  But  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  he 
considered  it  probable  that  Mrs.  Warrener  was  the  cause. 
He  had  seen  in  these  later  interviews  with  Violet  every  symp- 
tom of  the  girl's  being  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  this  man  who 
had  unwittingly  become  his  rival.  Of  Mr.  Drummond's  great 
love  and  affection  for  Violet,  the  constant  harping  on  the 
memory  of  her  that  ran  through  his  delirious  imaginings  could 
leave  no  manner  of  doubt,  if  doubt  had  at  any  time  been  pos- 
sible. What,  then,  could  have  caused  the  girl  to  take  so  des- 
perate a  step  as  that  of  pretending  she  had  been  drowned,  in 
order  to  escape  forever  from  her  friends  ?  Mr.  Miller  was, 
in  his  own  estimation,  not  by  any  means  a  fool.  He  knew 
what  mothers  and  sisters  could  become,  when  their  son  or  their 
brother  proposed  to  introduce  a  new  member  into  the  family. 
He  knew  the  jealousy  of  women  ;  he  could  imagine  something 
of  their  malign  ingenuity.  And  who  could  possibly  be  against 
this  marriage  between  Mr.  Drummond  and  Violet,  unless  it 
was  Mrs.  Warrener  herself;  and  whose  interests  but  hers 
could  suffer  ? 

"  And  so,"  argued  this  young  man  with  himself,  in  great 
bitterness  of  heart,  "  having  by  some  means  or  other  made 
the  girl  miserable,  having  driven  her  from  all  her  friends,  and 
made  an  outcast  and  a  wanderer  of  her,  and  having  securely 
locked  up  the  door,  so  that  no  one  should  come  in  to  share 
with  her  Drummond's  small  income,  she  turns  round  on  me, 
and  makes  me  out  to  be  the  cause  of  all  this  mischief  and 
misery,  and  brings  accusations  against  me  before  my  whole 
family,  so  that  my  own  mother  won't  speak  to  me  !  By  Jove, 
this  must  be  set  straight ! " 

When  he  went  up  to  Euston  Square  on  that  Wednesday  even- 
ing, he  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  not  to  be  trifled  with. 
Moreover,  he  had  conned  over  a  few  little  bits  of  rhetoric, 
with  which  to  rebut  the  astounding  charges  that  had  been 
brought  against  him.  The  trial  of  Warren  Hastings  was 
nothing  to  this. 

Sir  Acton  North  was  there,  grave  and  silent :  he  would  say 
nothing  against   the  young  man  until  he  had  been  heard. 


REPENTANCE.  361 

Mrs.  Warrener  was  there  too,  with  a  great  anxiety  in  her  pale 
and  gentle  face.  Lady  North  was  the  third  figure  in  the  as- 
sembled court,  none  of  her  daughters  being  present. 

"  Although  I  am  not  represented  by  counsel,"  the  young 
man  was  beginning  to  say  with  bitter  sarcasm,  when  he  was 
sternly  interrupted  by  Sir  Acton  North. 

*'  This  is  not  a  subject  for  joking,  Mr.  Miller,"  said  he. 
"  Tell  me  at  once — is  my  daughter  alive  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  simple  answer.  Mrs.  Warrener  clasped 
her  hands  :  there  was  not  one  there  who  loved  Violet  better 
than  she  did. 

"  Where  is  she  1 " 

"  I  don't  know." 

An  ominous  frown  came  over  Sir  Acton  North's  forehead. 

"  Come,  sir.  You  may  have  trifled  with  those  ladies  ;  you 
shall  not  trifle  with  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  where  she  is,"  George  Miller  continued, 
with  a  grand  air  of  indifference  ;  "  but  I  will  tell  you  where  I 
believe  her  to  be :  I  believe  she  is  now  on  her  way  to  Amer- 
ica. And  if  you  will  listen,  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  about 
her.  You  may  believe  the  story  or  not ;  I  can  not  help  it  if 
you  don't.  But  at  least  I  shall  try  to  show  to  these  ladies 
that  their  imagination  got  the  better  of  them  when  they  ac- 
cused me  of  being  a  monster  of  deceit  and  cruelty,  and  per- 
haps they  will  acknowledge  that  they  were  a  trifle  precipitate. 
I  knew  nothing  at  all  about — about  Miss  North — being  alive, 
till  a  little  over  a  month  ago.  There's  a  decorator-fellow  in 
Regent  Street,  who  got  into  my  club  on  the  strength  of  his 
being  an  artist — I  believe  he  was  an  artist  at  the  time — and  he 
began  talking  to  me  one  night  about  a  mysterious  sort  of  a 
girl  who  was  in  his  father's  place.  He  believed  she  knew 
some  one  in  the  Judosum.  I  asked  her  name  :  he  said  it  was 
Miss  Main  ;  and  the  coincidence  struck  me,  for  I  remembered 
that  school-mistress.  I  asked  more  about  her ;  some  things 
seemed  very  odd  ;  I  thought  I  would  go  and  see  her.  Well, 
I  watched  her  coming  out  of  the  shop  one  evening,  and  I 
made  sure  it  was  Violet,  though  she  was  closely  veiled.  I 
watched  her  once  or  twice  ;  then  I  spoke  to  her.  It  was 
Violet — I  mean.  Miss  North.  Very  well.  I  was  a  little  taken 
aback,  of  course,  for  I  could  not  understand  it ;  but  she  said 
she  wanted  every  body  to  believe  she  was  dead.  She  was 
going  away  from  England,  she  said ;  and  she  insisted  on  my 
promising  not  to  tell  a  human  being  that  I  had  seen  her — " 

Here  the  young  man  colored  somewhat. 

"You  may  think  I  am  breaking  that  promise  ;  but,  you  see, 


362  MADCAP    VIOLET. 

I  made  it  in  (he  expectation  that  I  could  reason  her  out  of 
all  this ;  and  then,  in  any  case,  what  she  wanted  was  to  get 
safely  away;  and  then,  when  you  all  seemed  to  know 
quite  well,  what  was  the  use  of  my  refusing  to  speak  any 
longer  ? " 

These  somewhat  incoherent  reasons  had  not  been  prepared 
beforehand  ;  there  was  no  precision  of  language  about  them. 
Moreover,  the  young  man  said  nothing  of  the  further  reason 
that  he  was  determined  to  have  no  more  personal  annoyance 
over  a  matter  which  did  not  concern  him. 

"  Well,  I  gave  her  my  word  of  honor  not  to  tell  you.  Per- 
haps that  was  wrong ;  but  I  was  a  little  bit  flustered,  and  I 
v/anted  to  gain  time.  Then  she  said  she  had  pretended  to  be 
drowned  because  she  thought  she  was  making  her  friends 
miserable,  and  after  a  time  they  would  forget  her.  She  was 
very  anxious  to  leave  England,  I  could  see ;  but  when  she 
asked  for  news  of  all  of  you,  and  when  I  told  her  that  Mr. 
Drummond  was  ill,  then  she  would  not  go  until  she  had  news 
of  his  getting  better.  I  had  to  go  to  her  every  few  days  with 
my  report ;  she  was  very  anxious.  I  don't  know  whether 
you  believe  all  that  I  am  telling  you  ;  I  can  not  help  it  if  you 
don't ;  but  I  am  telling  yo.u  all  I  know ;  and  I  think  it  is  vety 
hard  tkat  I  should  have  been  dragged  into  the  matter  at  all, 
and  then  get  nothing  but  angry  suspicions  for  my  pains." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Sir  Acton.  He  was  pacing  up  and  down 
one  end  of  the  room,  his  hands  behind  his  back.  There  was 
scarcelv  any  trace  of  agitation  on  the  deeply  lined  face. 

"  Well,  that  is  all." 

"  But  what  made  her  leave  the  Highlands  in  such  a  way  ? " 
cried  Lady  North.     "  Why  did  she  go  and  do  such  a  thing  ? " 

"  You  may  well  ask  why ! "  said  Mr.  Miller,  with  some 
warmth.  "  You,  I  suppose,  were  quick  to  follow  Mrs.  Warren- 
er  in  charging  the  whole  thing  upon  me.  I  was  the  cause  of  it. 
I  had  induced  the  girl  to  come  to  London  ;  I  had  concealed  the 
fact  of  her  being  here ;  I  had  inflicted  all  this  misery  on  her 
friends.  Perhaps  I  might  suggest  another  version.  I  have 
heard  how  even  very  amiable  women  can  treat  a  girl  who  thinks 
of  marrying  their  brother  or  their  son.  I  know  that  Violet  was 
too  proud  to  bring  dissension  into  any  famil}^ — to  go  anywhere 
as  an  intruder.  Yes,  I  will  tell  you  my  version  of  it.  I  will 
confess  that  I  wanted  tO"  marry  Violet  too.  I  found  I  had  no 
chance  whatever  ;  she  cared  more  for  Mr.  Drummond  than  for 
every  body  else  in  the  world  ;  what  he  thought  of  her  perhaps 
Mrs.  Warrener  can  tell  you.  I  believe  they  might  have  been 
married  now,  but  for  interference.     When  I  first  saw  her,  about 


REPENTANCE.  363 

a  month  ago,  and  when  she  talked  of  the  misery  she  Tiadbeen 
causing  her  friends,  I  fancied  she  had  dreaded  entering  into 
this  marriage,  and  had  run  away  from  it  at  all  costs  ;  but  I  dis- 
covered afterward  that  she  thought  of  nothing  else  in  the  world 
than  Mr.  Drummond.  Very  well,  then  :  what  was  the  cause 
of  her  misery  ?  Who  was  the  cause  of  it  ?  And  who  has  been 
the  cause  of  all  this  suffering  ?  " 

Lady  North  seized  the  young  man  by  the  arm. 

"  For  pity's  sake — !  "  she  said. 

He  turned  from  Sir  Acton,  to  whom  he  had  been  appealing ; 
and  there  he  saw  Mrs.  Warrener,  her  head  buried  in  her  hands, 
crying  most  bitterly.  It  was  a  cruel  revenge  to  take  for  a  few 
indignant  words.  But  the  pale  little  woman  pulled  herself  to- 
gather ;  and  she  spoke  through  her  sobs. 

"  God  forgive  me  if  I  have  done  wrong,"  she  said,  "  through 
any  mistake.  But  you  do  not  know  me,  if  you  think  my  home 
was  not  as  open  to  Violet  as — as  my  heart  was.  I  loved  her 
always.  I  should  have  loved  her  ten  times  more  if  she  had 
married  my  brother.  Mr.  Miller,  if  I  have  suspected  you 
wrongly,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  with  some  compunction,  "you  ^/^ suspect 
me  wrongly ;  for  you  see  how  I  was  dragged  into  this  affair 
through  no  wish  of  my  own.  And  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  hurt 
your  feelings,  Mrs.  Warrener.  You  know  better  than  any  one 
else  what  the  relations  between  you  and  Violet  were.  That 
is  no  business  of  mine." 

This  interruption  had  but  little  interest  for  Sir  Acton  North  : 
he  impatiently  waited  until  these  explanations  had  been  made ; 
and  then  he  urged  the  young  man  to  continue,  and  tell  them 
what  further  steps  Violet  had  taken. 

"  She  sailed  for  America  on  Monday  last,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  But  for  what  part  ?  " 

"  I  dont  know." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  Sir  Acton,  stopping  in  that 
hurried  pacing  to  and  fro — "  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  she 
has  left  this  country  altogether,  without  leaving  the  least  trace 
behind  her  ? " 

"  That  was  her  intention." 

"  Oh,  it  is  monstrous  !  it  is  inconceivable  !  What  madness 
has  possessed  the  girl !  And  you — you  might  have  told  us  a 
week  ago — " 

"  You  forget,"  said  the  younger  man,  "  that  I  had  given  her 
my  word  of  honor  not  to  tell  you.  It  was  not  for  me  to  inter- 
fere.    I  did  my  best  to  stop  her ;  but  when  I  saw  she  was 


364  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

determined  to  go  to  America — well,  a  girl  knows  her  own 
business  best." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  those  people  in  Regent  Street  ?  "  de- 
manded Sir  Acton,  abruptly. 

"  Dowse  &  Son." 

"  Do  you  know  where  they  live  ?  " 

"  In  the  country  somewhere.  They  don't  live  in  London, 
though  young  Dowse  gives  himself  a  holiday  up  here  occasion- 
ally. If  you  want  to  make  inquiries  of  them,  you  must  wait 
till  to-morrow." 

All  this  time  Mrs.  Warrener  had  been  sitting  silent,  her  head 
bent  down,  the  expression  of  her  face  betraying  no  conscious- 
ness of  what  was  going  on  around  her.  Indeed,  her  thoughts 
were  elsewhere — away  back  in  the  past,  which  she  was  now 
trying  to  read  by  a  new  and  terrible  light.  If  George  Miller 
had  resolved  to  have  his  revenge,  he  had  now  succeeded ;  a 
horrible  fear  darkened  this  poor  woman's  heart,  and  she  scarce- 
ly dared  to  confess  to  herself  all  the  possibilities  to  which  his 
random  accusation  pointed.  That  accusation,  it  is  true,  was 
in  one  sense  wrong — even  preposterous.  That  she  should 
have  interfered  between  Violet  and  her  brother  through  jeal- 
ousy, or  from  a  wish  to  protect  his  small  income,  w^as  a  notion 
that  might  occur  to  a  business-like  young  man  like  Mr.  Miller; 
not  to  her.  But  if  the  rest  of  it  were  true  ?  If  she  had  in  re- 
ality poisoned  these  two  minds  by  her  innocent  misrepresen- 
tations— what  then  }  Had  she  ruined  the  lives  of  the  two 
people  whom  she  held,  next  to  her  own  daughter,  most  dear 
in  the  world .'' 

She  rose,  pale  and  disti'aite,  to  bid  them  good-bye.  She 
was  sure  Sir  Acton  would  find  Violet.  He  would  let  her 
know,  as  his  inquiries  proceeded.  Mr.  Miller  would  forgive 
her  if  she  had  unintentionally  wronged  him. 

When  she  reached  home,  she  did  not  stay  to  take  off  her 
bonnet  and  things  ;  she  went  straight  to  her  brother's  room. 
But  she  paused  at  the  door,  physically  unable  to  go  farther. 
Strange  tremblings  passed  through  her  frame  ;  she  caught  at 
the  handle  of  the  door  to  steady  herself ;  a  giddiness  came 
over  her  eyes.  She  tried  to  form  some  notion  of  what  she 
would  say  to  him,  and  she  could  not.  The  one  great  yearn- 
ing of  her  soul  was  to  crave  his  forgiveness  for  the  irrepara- 
ble wrong  she  had  done. 

She  managed  to  open  the  door  :  he  was  lying  on  the  couch, 
apparently  asleep.  She  gently  shut  the  door  behind  her, 
and  stole  over  to  the  couch  and  knelt  down.     She  looked  at 


REPENTANCE.  365 

the  pale,  emaciated  hand  that  lay  helpless  there ;  that  was 
her  doing. 

He  had  been  half  awake.  He  turned  round  and  regarded 
her  with  some  surprise.     She  could  not  speak. 

*'  What  is  the  matter,  Sarah  t "  said  he. 

She  only  took  the  thin,  white  hand,  and  kissed  it  passion- 
ately, and  burst  into  tears.  Then  he  tried  to  raise  himself  a 
bit,  and  a  strange,  solemn  look  came  into  the  wasted  face. 

"  It  was  all  a  dream,  then,"  he  said,  with  resignation.  "  We 
shall  never  see  her  again." 

"  Oh,  James,  James !  "  his  sister  cried,  with  passionate 
grief ;  "  it  will  break  my  heart  to  tell  you  !  Violet  is  alive — 
it  was  indeed  she  who  brought  you  the  flowers.  She  has 
never  ceased  to  love  you — and — and  perhaps  you  will  see  her 
again  ;  but — how  can  I  look  on  her  face  !  And  you — how 
can  you  ever  forgive  me — if — if  all  this  is  true  ? — and  it  looks 
so  terribly  true  !  " 

His  eyes  were  troubled  and  bewildered  by  her  wild  speech ; 
but  he  sunk  back  on  the  couch  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Violet  is  alive,  then,"  he  said.     That  was  enough. 

"  But  listen,  James,"  she  continued,  in  a  quick,  eager  v/ay, 
sometimes  interrupted  by  a  sob ;  "  and  then  you  will  forgive 
me  if  you  can.  I  made  a  terrible  mistake  ;  I  must  have 
misled  you  both  ;  I  thought  she  cared  all  along  for  Mr.  Mil- 
ler, and  that  they  had  only  a  lovers'  quarrel ;  and  now  I  am 
sure  I  was  altogether  and  terribly  wrong,  for  here  she  has 
been  in  London  all  this  time,  and  Mr.  Miller  himself  con- 
fesses that  she  has  loved  you  all  through  with  her  whole  heart, 
and  has  never  cared  for  him  at  all.  And  now  I  see  it  so 
clearly — I  begged  you  not  to  speak  to  her,  to  give  her  a 
chance,  for  I  knew  she  was  proud  and  would  keep  to  her 
word  at  all  hazards ;  and  she  would  so  readily  misconstrue 
your  silence,  and  your  looking  pained  and  anxious." 

"  Sarah,"  said  her  brother,  raising  himself  on  the  couch, 
and  regarding  her,  "  all  this  is  very  wild  talking.  You  accuse 
yourself  needlessly.  You  appear  to  think  that  all  the  rela- 
tions between  Violet  and  me  were  managed  by  you  ;  and  that 
through  some  mistake  you  managed  wrongly.  It  was  not  so. 
In  such  a  matter  I  could  not  have  trusted  the  opinion  or  re- 
port of  any  one,  although,  of  course,  you  were  Violet's  inti- 
mate friend,  and  you  knew  more  about  the  ways  and  natural 
wishes  of  a  girl  than  I  did.  Don't  blame  yourself  needlessly. 
V/hen  that  compact  between  her  and  me  was  broken — it  was 
only  the  awakening  from  a  dream,  the  vanishing  of  a  rain- 
bow ;  we  did  it  of  our  own  free-will,  and  after  all  the  expla- 


^66  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

nation  that  was  necessary.  I  saw  her  looking  miserable, 
and  I  could  not  bear  that.  You  spoke  of  a  lover's  quarrel ; 
of  her  agitation  over  that  letter  from  young  Miller — well, 
what  could  be  more  likely  ?  " 

"  But  I  was  wrong — I  am  sure  I  was  terribly  wrong,"  his 
sister  cried. 

"  What  matter .?  "  he  continued,  calmly.  *'  I  did  not  go  by 
your  judgment  only  ;  I  went  to  herself.  I  asked  her  if  she  was 
harassed  or  troubled  by  our  engagement,  and  that  she  should 
be  free  if  she  wished.  And  then  I  remember  the  bright  and 
grateful  look  with  which  she  confessed  it  was  all  a  mistake — 
she  held  out  her  hand  to  me — it  was  the  first  time  for  days  I 
had  seen  her  look  happy.     That  was  enough." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  sadly  and  thoughtfully, 
and  almost  as  if  she  were  speaking  to  herself,  "  and  yet  if 
that  gladness  were  caused  by  something  else  ? — if  she  be- 
lieved, or  had  been  taught  to  believe,  that  you  had  only  a 
friendly  affection  for  her  ? — if  she  thought  she  was  relieving 
you  from  an  obligation  that  was  becoming  daily  more  pain- 
ful— " 

She  rose,  as  if  she  would  throw  off  the  burden  of  this  think- 
ing ;  her  face  looked  haggard  and  tired. 

"  Oh,  Violet !  "  she  said,  "  why  did  you  go  away — without 
a  word  ?  " 

"  Where  has  she  gone  ?  "  Mr.  Dnimmond  asked.  You 
would  have  thought  he  was  speaking  of  Amy,  who  had  gone 
to  spend  the  evening  with  a  neighbor  of  theirs. 

"To  America.  She  fancies  no  one  knows  she  is  alive — 
no  one  but  Mr.  Miller,  who  discovered  her  accidentally  about 
a  month  ago — and  she  made  him  promise  to  keep  her  secret. 
Imagine  the  poor  girl  going  away  out  to  that  strange  country 
all  by  herself,  wdthout  a  friend  in  the  world,  and  all  because 
she  fancied  she  was  somehow  making  you  miserable,  and 
that  nothing  v/ould  cure  that  but  your  believing  she  was  dead. 
There  is  a  great  deal  that  is  strange  and  unintelligible  in  all 
this  ;  but  to  my  dying  day  I  will  believe  that  I  have  had  more 
to  do  with  it  than  I  can  dare  to  think  of.  If  only  I  could 
see  Violet — for  five  minutes — if  I  could  ask  her  one  simple 
question — but  I  know  the  answer  already.  That  girl  has 
loved  you  as  few  girls  have  ever  loved  a  man ;  that  I  am  sure 
of,  now  when  it  is  too  late.  And  if  I  were  to  see  her,  Avhat 
could  I  do  now  but  go  down  on  my  knees  before  her  and 
beg  for  her  forgiveness  ?  She  would  give  it  to  me,  I  know. 
There  never  was  any  thing  she  could  deny  her  friends.  But 
now  if  she  is  lost  to  us  forever — if  we  are  to  go  on  from  year 


AT  LAST!  2^7 

to  year  thinking  of  her  as  a  stranger  and  a  wanderer  in  some 
distant  part  of  the  world— I  think  that  will  be  worse  even 
than  when  we  thought  she  was  dead." 

"I  will  find  her,"  said  Mr.  Driiramond,  absently. 

She  looked  at  the  wasted  frame  and  the  helpless  arms,  and 
her  eyes  grew  moist  again. 

"  1  will  find  her  when  I  get  well,"  he  continued,  speaking 
slowly  and  at  intervals.  "  I  have  never  had  any.thing  to  do 
in  my  life  ;  this  will  be  something.  I  shall  have  done  a  good 
work  when  I  recover  Violet,  and  take  her  back  to  her  friends 
and  her  home.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to  think  I  shall  see  her 
again.  Many  a  time,  in  w^alking  in  the  streets  or  along  a 
road,  I  have  seen  in  the  distance  the  fi.gure  of  a  tall  girl ;  and 
I  have  wondered  what  I  should  say  and  do  if  this  were  really 
Violet  coming  along,  brought  back  to  us  out  of  the  grave. 
I  thought  of  that  many  a  time.  And  now  I  shall  go  on  my 
pilgrimage  with  the  certainty  of  really  seeing  her  some  day — 
of  taking  her  hand  and  hearing  her  speak — not  as  a  mere 
ghostly  picture  in  a  dream,  but  in  the  real,  bright,  madcap 
Violet  of  old,  who  troubled  us  sorely,  and  whom  we  loved. 
And  we  shall  scold  her,  too,  for  these  wild  pranks ;  and 
shall  we  not  be  proud  of  her  when  we  bring  her  back — like  a 
king's  daughter — in  clothing  of  wrought  gold — with  gladness 
and  rejoicing  .?  But  there  will  be  no  wedding  in  any  king's 
palace  or  elsewhere  for  her — enough  of  mischief  came  out  of 
thinking  of  that  in  the  old  time.  We  shall  bring  her  back 
only  to  the  fireside,  and  to  the  old,  quiet  ways,  and  to  our 
hearts.  It  is  nothing  to  cry  about,  Sarah  ;  it  is  a  thing  to 
get  well  and  strong  for.  We  want  courage,  hope,  and  strength. 
But  my  hands  don't  look  very  strong,  do  they  ?  " 

He  held  them  out,  and  smiled.  She  could  not  see  them 
for  her  tears. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

AT  LAST  ! 

It  is  a  pale,  clear  morning  down  here  in  Berkshire.  A 
faint  blue  mist  hangs  about  the  black  and  distant  woods  ; 
but  closer  at  hand,  in  the  garden  of  The  Laurels,  the  sun- 
shine is  bright  enough  on  the  wintry-looking  evergreens,  on 
the  ruddy  berries  left  on  the  hawthorn-trees,  and  on  the 
gleaming  scarlet  bunches  on  the  hollies.  There  is  something 
odd  about  the  appearance  of  the  front  of  the  house  :  is  it 


368  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

that  the  blinds  of  all  the  windows  are  drawn  down  ?  There 
is  no  sign  of  life  about  the  place ;  and  an  intense  stillness 
broods  over  both  house  and  garden. 

But  by-and-by  the  figure  is  seen  of  a  young  girl  who 
comes  slowly  along  one  of  the  paths.  She  is  wandering  idly 
about  these  empty  grounds,  by  herself.  And  apparently  her 
thoughts  are  none  of  the  brightest,  for  there  is  a  sad  look  in 
her  eyes,  and  her  cheeks  have  not  the  healthful  brilliancy  of 
a  young  girl's  complexion.  And  what  is  she  saying  to  her- 
self ? 

"They  ought  not  to  ask  me  to  stay  :  I  shall  become  a  curse 
to  them,  as  to  every  one  with  whom  I  have  been  associated. 
I  have  never  meant  any  harm  to  any  one  in  all  my  life  ;  but 
misfortune  goes  hand-in-hand  with  me,  and  misery  is  the  only 
gift  I  have  to  offer  to  my  friends.  It  is  better  I  should  be 
away  among  strangers.  That  poor  young  man — the  few  sec- 
onds in  which  he  was  sensible — why  did  he  beg  me  to  stay 
with  his  mother?  I  can  not  comfort  her  :  I  shall  only  bring 
further  ill  to  her  and  to  her  house." 

A  servant  comes  out,  and  says  a  word  to  her ;  she  turns 
and  goes  in-doors.  She  ascends  the  stairs  noiselessly;  and 
as  she  goes  by  one  room  in  the  corridor  she  seems  to  listen ; 
but  what  is  the  use  of  listening  when  only  the  awful  silence 
of  death  is  within  ?  She  passes  onward  to  a  farther  room,  and 
here  she  finds  a  middle-aged  woman,  with  silvery  white  hair, 
sitting  mournfully  and  helplessly,  before  the  fire. 

"  My  child,  have  you  considered  1  Come  here,"  the  woman 
says  in  a  trembling  voice. 

The  girl  goes  over  to  her,  and  puts  her  hand  in  the  out- 
stretched hand. 

"  Yes,  I  have  thought  about  it,"  is  the  reply,  uttered  in  a 
low  voice.  "  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me — I  would  do 
any  thing  for  you — but  I  can  not  stay  in  England." 

"  You  will  not  take  pity  on  the  empty  house  ? "  says  the 
mother,  beginning  to  cry  gently.  "  It  was  his  last  wish.  You 
would  be  a  daughter  to  us." 

"  I  can  not — I  can  not,"  says  the  girl,  almost  wildly.  "  You 
don't  know  how — how  I  bring  misfortune  to  my  friends.  I 
want  to  be  away — away  from  England — among  strangers.  I 
shall  do  no  more  mischief  then  to  those  I  love.  And  as  for 
you,  Mrs.  Dowse,  you  know  I  can  not  ever  be  to  you  what  you 
have  lost ;  and  I  should  only  remind  you  constantly  of  your 
great  trouble." 

"Am  I  likely  to  forget  that  ever  ? "  she  says. 

"  But  in  the  mean  time  I  will  stay  with  you  for  a  week  or 


AT  LAST  I  369 

two.  Then  you  must  leave  this  house,  and  go  away  for  a  time : 
Mr.  Dowse  has  already  spoken  to  me  about  that.  Will  you 
come  out  into  the  garden  now  1  The  fresh  air  will  do  you 
good." 

She  only  shakes  her  head.  She  has  some  writings  in  her 
lap,  over  which  she  has  been  poring,  and  crying.  These  are 
some  of  poor  Teddie's  poetical  flights ;  and  his  mother  finds 
in  them  the  expression  of  the  most  tender  and  beautiful  spirit 
that  ever  breathed  upon  the  earth. 

She  went  noiselessly  down  the  stair  again,  intending  to  go 
out  into  the  garden;  but  as  she  passed  along  the  hall  she 
found  the  open  door-way  suddenly  darkened  by  the  tall  figure 
of  a  man.  She  looked  up  with  a  vague  alarm  ;  then  she  ut- 
tered a  slight  cry,  and  would  have  retreated.  But  the  next 
moment  the  old  instinct  prevailed  :  she  went  quickly  forward, 
her  face  upturned,  and  she  found  his  arms  close  round  her. 

"  Violet,  my  girl !  "  said  this  tall  man,  struggling  to  retain 
his  composure,  though  his  voice  was  shaken.  "You  have 
come  back  to  us,  after  all !  What  has  been  the  meaning  of 
all  this?" 

Her  heart  was  beating  so  wildly  that  she  could  not  answer. 
There  was  a  strange  joy  overflooding  her  soul.  All  the  gloomy 
fancies — the  desperate  desire  to  forsake  her  friends  and  be- 
come a  wanderer — seemed  to  have  disappeared  the  moment 
she  met  her  father's  eyes  and  found  his  arms  inclosing  her. 
The  world  had  come  back  to  her,  when  she  had  been  persuad- 
ing herself  she  was  scarcely  of  it.  There  was  not  a  thought 
now  of  her  being  a  misery-bringer. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "let  me  see  you.  Let  me  see  what  you 
are  like,  after  all  this  terrible  business." 

He  disengaged  her  from  him,  and  held  her  at  a  short  dis- 
tance :  the  light,  entering  under  the  narrow  veranda,  fell  full 
upon  her  face,  and  showed  how  sadly  worn  and  pale  it  was. 

"  You  have  not  been  happy,  Violet.  Why  did  you  go  away  ? 
Why  did  you  want  to  leave  us  .'' " 

Then  he  suddenly  recollected  himself.  He  had  independent- 
ly arrived  at  the  same  decision  as  Mr.  Drummond.  If  this  way- 
ward girl  were  ever  brought  back  to  them,  they  should  ask 
her  no  questions.  She  should  return  on  her  own  terms  :  it 
was  enough  that  they  were  to  get  her  back  at  all. 

"  No,  Violet,"  said  he,  "  I  won't  ask  you  any  questions." 

"Let  us  go  outside,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "Do  you 
know  he  is  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes.     The  foreman  at  the  works  told  me  this  morning." 

They  passed  out  into  the  garden  :  she  had,  as  of  old,  taken 
24 


370  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

his  arm,  but  her  hand  trembled  much,  and  she  was  not  so  firm 
and  upright  in  her  walk  as  usual. 

"  Papa,  do  they  all  know  ? "  she  asked,  her  face  bent  on 
the  ground. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Violet ;  how  could  you — but  no,  no !  What 
you  did  was  doubtless  quite  right.  You  had  your  reasons. 
You  were  quite  right." 

He  stammered,  and  looked  embarrassed.  He  was  so  glad 
to  see  his  daughter  again  that  he  would  forgive  every  thing, 
and  ask  no  questions,  as  he  had  promised.  Nevertheless,  the 
inexplicable  character  of  her  conduct  haunted  him,  and  con- 
tinually provoked  him  into  "  whys  "  and  "  hows." 

"  They  all  know }     Mrs.  Warrener,  too  .-*  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  certainly." 

"  And  I  have,  made  them  suffer,  and  you  a  great  deal ;  and 
now  it  has  all  come  to  nothing,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  There  is 
no  use  in  my  going  away  now." 

"  In  your  going  away !  "  he  cried,  in  dismay.  "  Of  course 
you  are  not  going  away,  Violet.  Now  we  have  caught  you,  we 
sha'n't  let  you  slip  from  us  again.  You  are  going  back  with 
us,  Violet.  And  what  a  chance  it  was !  We  were  told  you 
had  left  on  Monday." 

"  I  was  to  have  done  so,"  she  answered,  simply,  "  but  Mr. 
Dowse  persuaded  me  to  stay.  His  wife  was  in  such  a  terrible 
way  when  Mr.  Edward  died,  we  thought  she  wouldn't  get 
over  it." 

Sir  Acton  began  to  feel  a  great  pity  for  these  people,  whom 
he  had  never  seen.  He  was  not  a  very  sympathetic  man,  and, 
in  any  case,  he  would  have  had  little  in  common  with  Mr. 
Edward  Dowse  ;  but  he  could  see  very  plainly  that,  but  for 
the  death  of  that  young  man,  he,  Sir  Acton,  would  almost 
certainly  have  never  seen  his  daughter  again  in  this  world ; 
and  now  his  gratitude  took  the  form  of  compassion  for  the 
survivors. 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  sorry  for  these  poor  people,"  said  he,  "  very 
sorry.  You  must  do  what  you  can  for  them,  Violet.  But,  in 
the  first  place,  you  know  you  must  come  at  once  and  pay  us  a 
short  visit — even  if  you  run  back  here  afterward — just  to  show 
the  girls  you  are  alive,  and  then  they  will  feel  safe  in  putting 
off  their  mourning." 

*'0h  no,  no,  papa!"  she  cried,  shrinking  back  so  that 
she  even  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  arm  ;  "  I  can  never  go 
back  like  that.  I  have  done  too  much  harm.  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  meet  any  one  I  used  to  know  !  " 

"  They  will  forget  all  that !  "  said  he,  vehemently ;  "  they 


AT  LAST! 


Z1^ 


will  be  delighted  to  see  you,  Violet.  But  what  did  you  mean 
by  running  away  in  that  fashion,  without  telling  us  first  what 
was  the  matter,  eh?  Why  didn't  you  come  to  me?  Well, 
never  mind  that  ;  I  sha'n't  ask  any  questions.  But — but  if 
you  have  any  explanations  or  questions — " 

He  had  never  departed  from  this  old  conviction  that  wo- 
men had  a  secret  code  of  feelings,  and  sentiments,  and  opin- 
ions among  themselves,  which  no  man  could  hope  to  under- 
stand. He  knew  there  was  a  mystery  about  this  affair  which 
it  was  no  use  his  trying  to  solve. 

"  Violet,"  said  he,  with  some  embarrassment,  "  when  the 
foreman  told  this  morning  you  were  still  down  here,  I — I 
thought  you  might  perhaps  like  to  see  one  of  your  old  friends. 
I  telegraphed  to  Mrs.  Warrener — " 

The  girl  began  to  look  alarmed. 

" — In  fact,  she  came  down  with  me.  Would  you  like  to 
see  her?  " 

"  No,"  the  girl  was  beginning  to  say,  when  he  interrupted 
her. 

"  In  fact,  Violet,  she  is  here.  She  is  down  in  the  road. 
She  is  most  anxious  to  see  you  ;  for  it  appears  she  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  your  going  away,  and  she  wishes  to  make 
explanations  to  you  ;  she  seems  very  sorry." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  girl,  nerving  herself,  "  I  will  see  her. 
Shall  we  walk  down  to  the  gate,  papa  ? " 

But  this  did  not  suit  his  purpose  at  all.  He  wanted  to  leave 
the  two  women  together.  Of  course  they  had  their  secrets, 
their  sentiments,  their  occult  reasons ;  how  could  he  aid  in 
this  esoteric  interview  ?  So  he  bid  Violet  wait  in  the  garden, 
where  there  were  paths  among  the  laurels  and  other  evergreens 
fitted  for  quiet  talking,  while  he  went  down  to  the  road  to 
fetch  the  anxious  and  trembling-hearted  little  woman,  who 
was  walking  to  and  fro  there. 

When  Mrs.  Warrener  came  up  into  this  garden,  she  came 
alone,  and  for  a  time  she  did  not  see  Violet.  But  suddenly 
the  girl  appeared,  and  went  forward  to  her,  calmly,  and  sadly, 
with  her  eyes  cast  down.  Was  this  the  bright  and  daring 
Violet  of  old  ?  A  throb  of  pain  went  through  the  heart  of 
her  visitor. 

"  Violet,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  timidly,,  and  she  was  trem- 
bling not  a  little,  "  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  did  not  wish 
to  see  me.     I  have  done  you  a  great  injury." 

But  this  strange  reserve  between  these  two  could  not  con- 
tinue. Were  they  both  eager  for  forgiveness,  that  they  stood 
apart,  each  waiting  for  the  other's  approach  to  the  old  kind- 


372  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

ness  ?  The  next  minute  Mrs.  Warrener  had  caught  the  girl 
in  her  arms,  and  had  hidden  her  face  in  her  bosom,  while 
she  was  sobbing  out  there,  in  passionate  accents,  the  long 
story  of  her  terrible  mistake  and  all  its  consequences,  with 
her  present  professions  of  penitence,  and  prayers  for  forgive- 
ness. Much  of  all  this  startled  Violet,  and  even  frightened  her. 
Was  it  true,  then,  that  when  they  first  heard  of  her  being  in 
London,  they  imagined  she  had  run  away  to  rejoin  George 
Miller?  No;  she  knew  one  at  least  who  had  not  believed 
that  of  her. 

"  And  when  3^ou  see  him,  Violet,"  her  friend  was  saying,  in 
rather  a  wild  way,  "  when  you  come  to  see  him,  and  see  what 
a  wreck  has  been  made,  will  you  be  able  to  forgive  me  then  ? 
That  is  all  my  doing,  too.  He  was  a  changed  man  from  the 
moment  we  believed  you  were  drowned ;  he  thought  of  noth- 
ing else  but  that :  it  was  those  long  midnight  walks  in  the 
rain  and  cold  that  brought  on  the  fever." 

"  He  has  suffered  all  that  for  me  !  "  the  girl  murmured,  al- 
most to  herself.  She  had  no  thought  of  what  she,  also,  had 
borne. 

"  But  now — but  now,Violet,"  said  her  friend,  looking  up  to 
her  face  with  tender  and  beseeching  eyes,  "  it  will  be  all  dif- 
ferent now,  and  there  will  be  no  more  danger  of  these  terrible 
misunderstandings.  I  will  tell  him  why  you  looked  glad 
when  you  broke  off  the  engagement ;  I  will  tell  him  why  you 
went  away  from  us  ;  he  will  understand  how  well  one  woman 
has  loved  him,  if  another  has  nearly  wrecked  his  life.  Oh, 
Violet,  I  could  have  believed  any  thing  of  your  unselfishness 
but  this.  Well,  a  man  ought  to  be  content  with  life  who  has 
been  shown  such  devotion." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  Mrs.  Warrener,"  said  the  girl,  calmly, 
"  I  think  perhaps  I  had  better  make  these  explanations  my- 
self.    I  will  write  to  him." 

The  other  remained  silent,  the  tears  running  down  her  face. 
She  felt  the  rebuke,  although  Violet  had  meant  no  rebuke. 
All  that  the  girl  had  intended  to  convey  was  that  henceforth 
it  might  be  better  if  she  spoke  direct  to  this  man,  and  alone, 
about  such  matters  as  concerned  their  two  selves. 

"  Then  you  will  write  to  him  soon  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Warrener, 
jDiteously,  "  and  you  will  come  and  see  us  soon,  Violet !  I  am  so 
anxious  to  have  all  this  misery  undone  and  atoned  for,  as  far 
as  that  is  possible  now :  you  will  come  and  help  us  to  make 
it  up  to  him.  As  for  yourself,  I  can  only  hope  you  will  for- 
give me  in  time.     And,  if  it  is  not  too  late,  Violet,  I  shall  see 


AT  LAST!  zn 

you  both  get  back  to  your  old  selves,  and  we  may  go  to  the 
Highlands  again  this  year." 

The  girl  shuddered. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  that  would  be  too  terrible  !  " 

*'  Then,  to  the  South  ? "  said  her  friend,  with  some  desper- 
ate effort  at  cheerfulness.  "  Perhaps  the  South  would  be 
better  for  him.  And  then,  as  soon  as  he  is  quite  well,  you 
shall  have  no  more  of  my  intrusion.  Mr.  Miller  said  some- 
thing the  other  day  about  sisters  and  mothers,  and  their  jeal- 
ousy. I  have  enjoyed  my  brother's  society  for  a  great  many 
years  ;  it  is  time  I  gave  up  my  place  to  another." 

"  But  not  to  me,  then,"  said  the  girl,  quickly,  and  yet  with 
something  of  sadness  in  her  tone.  "  It  is  no  use  our  talking 
of  any  thing  like  that.  When  your  brother  gets  well,  and 
goes  away,  it  is  you  who  must  go  with  him." 

"  But  you  are  coming  to  see  him,  Violet  ?  "  the  pale  little 
woman  cried,  in  dismay.  "  You  are  coming  to  live  with  us 
again  ?  You  will  give  us  the  chance  of  trying  to  atone  for 
what  is  past  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  come  and  see  him,"  said  Violet,  calmly,  "  in  a 
day  or  two.  Then  I  must  return  here.  Afterward — well, 
that  has  to  be  settled  yet." 

Mrs.  Warrener  could  not  understand  why  Violet  spoke 
thus.  Was  it  not  a  simple  matter,  to  restore  the  old  state  of 
things  so  soon  as  Mr.  Drummond  got  well  ?  The  girl  spoke 
as  if  she  were  about  to  fulfill  some  doom  of  perpetual  banish- 
ment from  all  she  had  ever  known  and  loved. 

So  it  was  arranged  before  Sir  Acton  and  Mrs.  Warrener 
left,  and  after  a  brief  word  with  Mr.  Dowse,  who  was  in-doors, 
that  Violet  should  go  up  to  her  father's  house  on  the  follow- 
ing Saturday,  and  go  over  to  visit  her  friends  in  the  South  in 
the  evening.  In  the  mean  time,  she  promised  Mrs.  Warrener 
she  would  write  a  letter  to  Mr.  Drummond. 

It  was  a  long  letter,  of  which  no  word  shall  be  spoken 
here.  To  the  invalid,  lying  there  on  his  couch,  haunted  by 
dreams  of  the  past  and  all  that  might  have  been,  it  was  a  sa- 
cred revelation  which  no  eye  but  his  ever  read.  It  was  the 
story,  told  in  tender  phrases  enough,  but  loyally  honest  and 
outspoken  as  the  soul  of  her  who  penned  it,  of  the  simple, 
sincere,  and  enduring  love  that  filled  a  woman's  heart ;  of  a 
love  that  was  likely  to  remain  there  until  the  pulses  of  the 
heart  itself  were  stilled  by  the  gentle  hand  of  death. 

And  then  that  night.  She  was  to  be  over  at  eight  o'clock  ; 
but  he  had  a  secret  fancy  she  might  come  before  the  time  ; 
and  as  he  sat  up  on  the  couch,  his  back  propped  by  a  cushion. 


374  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

he  pretended  to  be  talking  cheerfully  to  his  sister  and  niece ; 
but  he  was  in  reality  listening  for  the  sound  of  wheels  outside. 
Many  a  time  he  had  listened  in  like  manner,  even  when  he 
knew  that  his  fancies  were  all  in  vain ;  and  many  a  time, 
though  he  mourned  for  her  as  dead,  he  had  imagined  the  door 
to  open,  and  he  had  seen  a  vision  of  the  fair  young  girl  enter- 
ing with  her  shy  smile,  her  tender  eyes,  her  gracious  pres- 
ence. Was  it  now  a  real  flesh-and-blood  Violet  that  was  com- 
ing ?  no  phantom  from  the  shadowy  halls  of  Death,  but  Vio- 
let herself,  the  frank,  generous,  courageous  girl  who  had  won 
the  hearts  of  all  the  sailors  on  board  the  Sea-Pyot  ? 

"  I  wish,"  said  he,  seriously,  to  his  sister,  "  I  wish  there 
were  none  of  that  confounded  green  in  this  dressing-gown. 
She  always  hated  green  in  any  costume." 

"  She  won't  think  about  your  costume,  I  imagine,"  his  sis- 
ter said.  "  Perhaps  you  would  like  a  white  tie,  since  a  young 
lady  is  coming  to  sup  with  you  ? " 

"  A  white  tie  }  No,"  he  said,  absently  (he  was  really  count- 
ing the  minutes  as  they  passed,  and  listening  intently),  "  I  do 
not  know  what  impressions  are  produced  by  a  white  tie  ;  but 
they  are  real  and  mysterious.  If  you  meet  a  waiter  in  the 
street,  you  can  not  tell  who  he  is ;  but  his  face  haunts  you. 
You  know  there  is  something  wanting  to  complete  the  por- 
trait— you  could  identify  him  if  that  were  present.  A  butler 
out  of  livery  in  the  street  is  a  very  strange-looking  person — • 
the  dignity  of  his  manner  is  irreconcilable  with  a  billycock 
hat." 

He  looked  again  at  his  watch,  hanging  upon  the  wall.  It 
was  a  trifle  past  the  half-hour. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  Violet  was  over  here  ? "  he  asked. 
"About  six  months  now,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener. 
"  A  great  deal  has  happened  in  that  half-year.  It  seems 
longer  than  half  a  year — there  is  so  much  distance  in  it,  the 
sense  of  distance  you  get  from  death.  Violet  has  been  quite 
close  by  all  this  time ;  and  yet  she  seems  to  be  coming  back 
to  us  from  a  far  country — farther  away  than  any  on  the  other 
side  of  the  sea — and  one  could  almost  imagine  she  will  look 
strange  and  unfamiliar — " 

He  stopped,  for  they  could  hear  outside  the  sound  of  wheels 
approaching.  Presently  that  sound  ceased.  Amy  Warrener 
jumped  up  and  flew  out  of  the  room ;  her  mother  followed  her. 
James  Drummond  was  left  alone. 

And  now  he  looked  at  the  door ;  for  he  knew  who  would 
open  it  next.  He  was  weak  and  ill ;  perhaps  that  was  why 
the  wasted  frame  trembled  so.     Then  the  door  was  gently 


JOY  AND  FEAR.  375 

opened ;  and  Violet,  tall,  pale,  her  eyes  streaming  with  tears, 
appeared.  For  an  instant  she  stood  motionless,  trying  to  col- 
lect herself  before  approaching  the  invalid  ;  but  the  first 
glimpse  she  got  of  the  shattered  wreck  lying  before  her  caused 
her  to  utter  a  quick,  sharp  cry  of  agony,  and  she  threw  her- 
self on  her  knees  beside  him,  and  wound  her  arms  round  him 
for  the  first  time,  as  she  cried,  in  the  bitterness  of  her  heart, 
"  My  darling,  my  darling  !  it  is  not  too  late  ? " 
"  No,  not  too  late,"  he  answered,  solemnly ;  "  whether  it  be 
in  this  world,  or  in  the  greater  world  that  lies  ahead.  Violet, 
give  me  your  hand." 

She  raised  herself  for  a  moment,  and  their  eyes  were  fixed 
on  each  other — his  clear,  and  calm,  and  earnest ;  hers  troubled, 
and  dark,  and  full  of  an  agonized  tenderness.  He  held  out 
his  right  hand  to  her,  and  she  placed  her  right  hand  in  his ; 
and  there  was  no  need  of  any  further  words  between  these 
two,  then  or  thereafter,  during  the  time  that  was  left  to  them 
to  be  together. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

JOY  AND   FEAR 


Was  this  man  mad,  that  he,  an  invalid,  propped  up  in  his 
chair,  and  scarcely  able  to  move  a  wine-glass  out  of  his  way, 
should  play  pranks  with  the  whole  created  order  of  things, 
tossing  about  solar  systems  as  if  they  were  no  more  than  jug- 
gler's balls,  and  making  universal  systems  of  philosophy  jump 
through  hoops  as  if  he  were  a  lion-tamer  in  a  den  ?  These 
poor  women  did  not  know  where  to  catch  him.  Violet  used 
to  say  that  he  was  like  a  prism,  taking  the  ordinary  daylight 
of  life  and  slitting  it  up  into  a  thousand  gay  and  glancing  colors. 
That  was  all  very  well  as  a  spectacular  exhibition ;  but  how 
when  he  was  apparently  instructing  them  in  some  serious  mat- 
ter ?  Was  it  fair  so  these  tender  creatures  who  had  so  lov- 
ingly nursed  him,  that  he  should  assume  the  airs  of  a  teacher, 
and  gravely  lead  out  his.  trusting  disciples  into  the  desert 
places  of  the  earth,  when  his  only  object  was  to  get  them  into 
a  bog  and  then  suddenly  reveal  himself  as  a  will-o'-the-wisp, 
laughing  at  them  with  a  fiendish  joy  ? 

What,  for  example,  was  all  this  nonsense  about  the  land 
question — about  the  impossibility  of  settling  it  in  England  so 
long  as  the  superstitious  regard  for  land  existed  in  the  English 


376  MADCAP  VIOLET, 

• 

mind  ?  They  were  quite  ready  to  believe  him.  They  dep- 
recated that  superstition  most  sincerely.  They  could  not 
understand  why  a  moneyed  Englishman's  first  impulse  was  to 
go  and  buy  land ;  they  could  give  no  reason  for  the  delusion 
existing  in  the  bosom  of  every  Englishman  that  he,  if  no 
one  else,  could  make  money  out  of  the  occupation  of  a  farm 
that  had  ruined  a  dozen  men  in  succession.  All  this  was 
very  well ;  but  what  were  they  to  make  of  his  suddenly  turn- 
ing round  and  defending  that  suj^erstition  as  the  most  beauti- 
ful sentiment  in  human  nature  "i  It  was,  according  to  him,  the 
sublimest  manifestation  of  filial  love — the  instinct  of  affec- 
tion for  the  great  mother  of  us  all.  And  then  the  flowers 
became  our  small  sisters  and  brothers ;  and  the  dumb  look 
of  appeal  in  a  horse's  eye,  and  the  singing  of  the  thrush  at 
the  break  of  day,  these  were  but  portions  of  the  inarticulate 
language  now  no  longer  known  to  us.  What  was  any  human 
being  to  make  of  this  rambling  nonsense  1 

It  all  came  of  the  dress-coat,  and  of  his  childish  vanity  in 
his  white  wristbands.  It  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  he 
had  ceremoniously  (pressed  for  dinner ;  and  Violet  had  come 
over.;  and  he  was  as  proud  of  his  high  and  stiff  collar  and 
of  his  white  necktie  as  if  they  had  been  the  ribbon  and  star 
of  a  royal  order.  And  then  they  were  all  going  off  the  next 
morning — Miss  North  included — to  a  strange  little  place  on 
the  southern  side  of  the  Isle  of  Wight;  and  he  had  gone 
"  clean  daft ''  with  the  delight  of  expectation.  There  was 
nothing  sacred  from  his  mischievous  fancy.  He  would  have 
made  fun  of  a  bishop.  In  fact  he  did ;  for,  happening  to  talk 
of  inarticulate  language,  he  described  having  seen,  "  the 
other  day,"  in  Buckingham  Palace  Road,  a  bishop  who  was 
looking  at  some  china  in  a  shop-window ;  and  he  went  on  to 
declare  how  a  young  person  driving  a  perambulator,  and  too 
earnestly  occupied  with  a  sentry  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road,  incontinently  drove  that  perambulator  right  on  to  the 
carefully  swathed  toes  of  the  bishop ;  and  then  he  devoted 
himself  to  analyzing  the  awful  language  which  he  saw  on  the 
afflicted  man's  face. 

"  But,  uncle,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  with  the  delightful  fresh- 
ness of  fifteen,  "  how  could  you  see  any  body  in  Buckingham 
Palace  Road  the  other  day,  when  you  haven't  been  out  of  the 
house  for  months  ?  " 

"  How  ?  "  said  he,  not  a  whit  abashed.  "  How  could  I  see 
him  ?  I  don't  know,  but  I  tell  you  I  did  see  him.  With  my 
eyes,  of  course." 

He  lost  his  temper,  however,  after  all. 


JOY  AND  FEAR.  2>77 

"  To-morrow,"  he  was  saying,  "  I  bid  good-bye  to  my  doc- 
tor. I  bear  him  no  malice  :  may  he  long  be  spared  from 
having  to  meet  in  the  next  world  the  people  he  sent  there 
before  him  !  But  look  here,  Violet — to-morrow  evening  we 
shall  be  free  ! — and  we  shall  celebrate  our  freedom,  and  our 
first  glimpse  of  a  sea-shore,  in  Scotch  whisky — in  hot  Scotch 
whisky — in  Scotch  whisky  with  the  boilingest  of  boiling  water, 
just  caught  at  the  proper  point  of  cooling.  You  don't  know 
that  point ;  I  will  teach  you  :  it  is  perfection.  Don't  you 
know  that  we  have  just  caught  the  cooling  point  of  the  earth 
— ^just  that  point  in  its  transition  from  being  a  molten  mass 
to  its  becoming  a  chilled  and  played-out  stone  that  admits  of 
our  living — " 

"  But,  uncle,"  said  Amy,  "  I  thought  the  earth  used  to  be 
far  colder  than  it  is  now.  Remember  the  glacial  period," 
added  this  profound  student  of  physics. 

This  was  too  much. 

"  Dear,  dear  me  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Am  I  to  be  brought 
up  at  every  second  by  a  pert  school-girl  when  I  am  expounding 
the  mysteries  of  life  ?  What  have  your  twopenny-halfpenny 
science-primers  to  do  with  the  grand  secret  of  toddy  ?  I  tell 
you  we  must  catch  it  at  the  cooling  point  ;  and  then,  Violet 
— ^for  you  are  a  respectful  and  attentive  student — if  the 
evening  is  fine,  and  the  air  warm,  and  the  windows  open  and 
looking  out  to  the  south — do  you  think  the  doctor  could 
object  to  that  one  first,  faint  trial  of  a  cigarette,  just  to  make 
us  think  we  are  up  again  in  the  August  nights — off  Isle 
Ornsay — with  Alec  up  at  the  bow  singing  that  hideous  and 
melancholy  song  of  his,  and  the  Sea-Pyot  slowly  creeping 
along  by  the  black  islands  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  at  all ;  but  for  a  brief  moment  her  lip 
trembled.  Amidst  all  this  merriment  she  had  sat  with  a 
troubled  face,  and  with  a  sore  and  heavy  heart.  She  had 
seen  in  it  but  a  pathetic  bravado.  He  would  drink  Scotch 
whisky — he  would  once  more  light  a  cigarette — merely  to 
assure  her  that  he  was  getting  thoroughly  well  again  ;  his 
laughter,  his  jokes,  his  wild  sallies  were  all  meant,  and  she 
knew  it,  to  give  her  strength  of  heart  and  cheerfulness.  She 
sat  and  listened,  with  her  eyes  cast  down.  When  she  heard 
him  talk  lightly  and  playfully  of  all  that  he  meant  to  do, 
her  heart  throbbed,  and  she  dared  not  lift  her  eyes  to  his 
face,  lest  they  should  suddenly  reveal  to  him  that  awful  con- 
flict within  of  wild  and  piteous  and  agonizing  doubt. 

Then  that  reference  to  their  wanderings  in  the  Northern 
seas — he  did  not  know  how  she  trembled  as  he  spoke.     She 


378  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

could  never  even  think  of  that  strange  time  she  had  spent  up 
there,  and  of  the  terrible  things  that  had  come  of  it,  without 
a  shudder.  If  she  could  have  cut  it  out  of  her  life  and 
memory  altogether,  that  would  have  been  well ;  but  how 
could  she  forget  the  agony  of  that  awful  farewell — the  sense 
of  utter  loneliness  with  which  she  saw  the  shores  recede — 
the  conviction  then  borne  in  upon  her,  and  never  wholly 
eradicated  from  her  mind,  that  some  mysterious  doom  had 
overtaken  her,  from  which  there  was  no  escape.  The  influ- 
ence of  that  time,  and  of  the  time  that  succeeded  it,  still 
dwelt  upon  her,  and  overshadowed  her  with  its  gloom.  She 
had  almost  lost  the  instinct  of  hope.  She  never  doubted, 
when  they  carried  young  Dowse  into  that  silent  room,  but 
that  he  would  die  ;  was  it  not  her  province  to  bring  misery 
to  all  who  were  associated  with  her  ?  And  she  had  got  so 
reconciled  to  this  notion  that  she  did  not  argue  the  matter 
with  herself ;  she  had,  for  example,  no  sense  of  bitterness  in 
contrasting  this  apparent  "  destiny  "  of  hers  with  the  most 
deeply  rooted  feeling  in  her  heart — namely,  a  perfectly  honest 
readiness  to  give  up  her  own  life  if  only  that  could  secure 
the  happiness  of  those  she  loved.  She  did  not  even  feel 
injured  because  this  was  impossible.  Things  were  so  ;  and 
she  accepted  them. 

But  sometimes,  in  the  darkness  of  her  room,  in  the  silence 
of  the  night-time,  when  her  heart  seemed  to  be  literally 
breaking  with  its  conflict  of  anxious  love  and  returning 
despair,  some  wild  notion  of  propitiation — doubtless  derived 
from  ancient  legends — would  flash  across  her  mind;  and  she 
would  cry  in  her  agony,  "  If  one  must  be  taken,  let  it  be  me ! 
The  world  cares  for  him  :  what  am  I  ? "  If  she  could  only 
go  out  into  the  open  place  of  the  city ;  and  bare  her  bosom 
to  the  knife  of  the  priest ;  and  call  on  the  people  to  see  how 
she  had  saved  the  life  of  her  beloved — surely  that  would  be 
to  die  happy.  What  she  had  done,  now  that  she  came  to 
look  back  over  it,  seemed  but  too  poor  an  expression  of  her 
great  love  and  admiration.  What  mattered  it  that  a  girl 
should  give  up  her  friends  and  her  home  t  Her  life — -her 
very  life — that  was  what  she  desired,  when  these  wild  fancies 
possessed  her,  to  surrender  freely,  if  only  she  could  know 
that  she  was  rescuing  him  from  the  awful  portals  that  her 
despairing  dread  saw  open  before  him,  and  was  giving  him  back 
— as  she  bid  him  a  last  farewell — to  health,  and  joy,  and  the 
comfort  of  many  friends. 

With  other  wrestlings  in  spirit,  far  more  eager  and  real 
than  these  mere  fancies  derived  from  myths,  it  is  not  within 


O  GENTLE  WIND  THAT  BLOWETH  SOUTH.         379 

the  province  of  the  present  writer  to  deal ;  they  are  not  for 
the  house-tops  or  the  market-places.  But  it  may  be  said  that 
in  all  directions  the  gloomy  influences  of  that  past  time  pur- 
sued her ;  wherever  she  went  she  was  haunted  by  a  morbid 
fear  that  all  her  resolute  will  could  not  shake  off.  Where, 
for  example,  could  she  go  for  sweeter  consolation,  for  more 
cheering  solace,  than  to  the  simple  and  re-assuring  services  of 
the  church  i* — but  before  she  entered,  eager  to  hear  words  of 
hope  and  strengthening,  there  was  the  grave-yard  to  pass 
through,  with  the  misery  of  generations  recorded  on  its 
melancholy  stones. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

"  O   GENTLE   WIND   THAT    BLOWETH    SOUTH  !  " 

But  if  this  girl,  partly  through  her  great  and  yearning  love, 
and  partly  through  the  overshadowing  of  her  past  sufferings, 
was  haunted  by  a  mysterious  dread,  that  was  not  the  pre- 
vailing feeling  within  this  small  household  which  was  now 
pulling  itself  together  for  a  flight  to  the  South.  Even  she 
caught  something  of  the  brisk  and  cheerful  spirit  awakened 
by  all  the  bustle  of  departure  ;  and  when  her  father,  who  had 
come  to  London  Bridge  Station  to  see  the  whole  of  them  off, 
noticed  the  business-like  fashion  in  which  she  ordered  every 
body  about,  so  that  the  invalid  should  have  his  smallest  com- 
forts attended  to,  he  could  not  help  saying,  with  a  laugh, 

"  Well,  Violet,  this  is  better  than  starting  for  America  all 
by  yourself,  isn't  it  ?  But  I  don't  think  you  would  have  been 
much  put  out  by  that,  either." 

A  smart  young  man  came  up,  and  was  for  entering  the  car- 
riage. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  she,  respectfully  but  firmly. 
"  This  carriage  is  reserved." 

The  young  man  looked  at  both  windows. 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  is,"  he  retorted,  coolly. 

He  took  hold  of  the  handle  of  the  door,  when  she  immedi- 
ately rose  and  stood  before  him,  an  awful  politeness  and  de- 
corum on  her  face,  but  the  fire  of  Brunehild,  the  warrior^ 
maiden,  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  will  please  call  the  guard  before  coming  in  here. 
This  carriage  is  reserved." 


380  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

At  this  moment  her  father  came  forward,  not  a  Uttle  in- 
cUned  to  laugh. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  the  carriage  is  really  reserved. 
There  was  a  w^ritten  paper  put  up ;  it  has  fallen  down,  I  sup- 
pose.    There  it  is." 

So  the  smart  young  man  went  away ;  but  was  it  fair,  after 
this  notable  victory,  that  they  should  all  begin  to  make  fun  of 
her  fierce  majestic  bearing,  and  that  the  very  person  for 
whose  sake  she  had  confronted  the  enemy  should  begin  to 
make  ridiculous  rhymes  about  her,  such  as  these : 

"  Then  out  spoke  Violet  Northimus, 
Of  Euston  Square  was  she —  . 
*  Lo,  I  will  stand  at  thy  right  hand, 
And  guard  the  door  with  thee  ! '  " 

Violet  Northimus  did  not  reply.  She  wore  the  modesty  of  a 
victor.  She  was  ready  at  any  moment  to  meet  six  hundred 
Such  as  he ;  and  she  was  not  to  be  put  out,  after  the  discom- 
fiture of  her  enemy,  by  a  joke. 

Then  they  slowly  rolled  and  grated  out  of  the  station  ;  and 
by-and-by  the  swinging  pace  increased,  and  they  w^ere  out  in 
the  clearer  light  and  the  fresher  air,  with  a  windy  April  sky 
showing  flashes  of  blue  from  time  to  time.  They  went  down 
through  a  succession  of  thoroughly  English-looking  land- 
scapes— quiet  valleys,  with  red-tiled  cottages  in  them,  bare 
heights  green  with  the  young  corn,  long  stretches  of  brown 
and  almost  leafless  woods,  with  the  rough  banks  outside  all 
starred  with  the  pale,  clear  primrose.  "There  was  one  in  that 
carriage  who  had  had  no  lack  of  flowers  that  spring — flowers 
brought  by  many  a  kindly  hand  to  brighten  the  look  of  the 
sick-room  ;  but  surely  it  was  something  more  wonderful  to 
see  the  flowers  themselves,  growing  here  in  this  actual  and 
outside  world,  which  had  been  to  him,  for  many  a  weary  week, 
but  a  dimly  imagined  dream-land.  There  were  primroses 
under  the  hedges  ;  primroses  along  the  high  banks  ;  prim- 
roses shining  pale  and  clear  within  the  leafless  woods,  among 
the  russet  leaves  of  the  previous  autumn.  And  then  the  life 
and  motion  of  the  sky  :  the  south-westerly  winds  :  the  black 
and  lowering  clouds  suddenly  followed  by  a  wild  and  dazzling 
gleam  of  sunlight ;  the  grays  and  purples  flying  on,  and  leav- 
ing behind  them  a  welcome  expanse  of  shining  April  blue. 

The  day  was  certainly  squally  enough,  and  might  turn  to 
showers  ;  but  the  gusts  of  wind  that  blew  through  the  car- 
riage w^ere  singularly  sweet  and  mild  ;  and  again  and  again, 
Mr.  Drummond,  who  had  been  raised  by  all  this  new  life  and 


O  GENTLE  WIND  THAT  BLOWETH  SOUTH.        381 

light  into  the  very  highest  spirits,  declared  with  much  solem- 
nity that  he  could  already  detect  the  smell  of  the  salt  sea-air. 
They  had  their  quarrels,  of  course.  It  pleased  a  certain 
young  lady  to  treat  the  South  coast  of  England  with  much 
supercilious  contempt :  you  would  have  imagined,  from  her 
talk,  that  there  was  something  criminal  in  one's  living  even 
within  twenty  miles  of  the  bleak  downs,  the  shabby  precipices, 
and  the  muddy  sea,  which,  according  to  her,  were  the  only 
recognizable  features  of  our  southern  shores.  She  woiild  not 
admit,  indeed,  that  there  was  any  sea  at  ail  there  ;  there  was 
only  churned  chalk.  Was  it  fair  to  say,  even  under  the  ex- 
asperation of  continual  goading,  that  the  Isle  of  Wight  was 
only  a  trumpery  toy-shop ;  that  its  "  scenery "  was  fitly 
adorned  with  bazaars  for  the  sale  of  sham  jewelry  ;  that  its 
amusements  were  on  a  par  with  those  of  Rosherville  Gardens ; 
that  its  rocks  were  made  of  mud  and  its  sea  of  powdered 
lime  ? 

"By  heavens,''  exclaimed  her  antagonist,  "  I  will  stand 
this  no  longer !  I  will  call  upon  Neptune  to  raise  such  a 
storm  in  the  Solent  as  shall  convince  you  that  there  is  quite 
enough  sea  surrounding  that  pearl  of  islands,  that  paradise, 
that  world's  wonder  we  are  going  to  visit — " 

"Yes,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  she,  with  sweet  sarcasm, 
"  that  if  you  stirred  the  Solent  with  a  tea-spoon,  you  would 
frighten  the  yachtsmen  there  out  of  their  wits — " 

"  Oh,  Violet,"  cried  another  young  lady,  "  you  know  you 
were  dreadfully  frightened  that  night  in  Tobermory  Bay, 
when  the  equinoctial  gales  caught  us,  and  the  men  were 
tramping  overhead  all  night  long." 

"  I  should  be  more  frightened  down  here,"  was  the  retort, 
"  because,  if  we  were  driven  ashore,  I  should  be  choked  first 
and  drowned  afterward.  Fancy  going  out  of  the  world  with 
a  taste  of  chalk  in  your  mouth !  " 

Well,  at  this  moment  the  fierce  discussion  was  stopped  by 
the  arrival  of  the  train  at  Portsmouth  ;  but  here  a  very  singu- 
lar incident  occurred.  Violet  was  the  first  to  step  out  on  to 
the  platform. 

"  You  have  a  tramway-car  that  goes  down  to  the  pier,  have 
you  not  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  guard. 

"  Ain't  going  to  day,  miss,"  was  the  answer.  "  Boats  can't 
come  in  to  Southsea ;  the  sea  is  very  high.  You'll  have  to 
go  to  Portsea,  miss — " 

Now  what  was  this  man's  amazement  on  seeing  this  young 
lady  suddenly  burst  out  laughing,  as  she  turned  and  looked 
into  the  carriage. 


382  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  ? "  she  cried.  "  The  Solent  is  raging ! 
They  can't  come  near  Southsea  !  Don't  you  think,  Mrs.  War- 
rener,  that  it  will  be  very  dangerous  to  go  to  Portsea  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener,  with  a  mali- 
cious smile, ."  if  a  certain  young  lady  I  know  were  to  be  ill  in 
crossing,  she  would  be  a  good  d^eal  more  civil  to  her  native 
country  when  she  reached  the  other  side." 

But  in  good  truth,  when  they  got  down  to  Portsea  there 
was  a  pretty  stiff  breeze  blowing ;  and  the  walk  out  on  the 
long  pier  was  not  a  little  trying  to  an  invalid  who  had  but  lately 
recovered  the  use  of  his  limbs.  The  small  steamer,  too,  was 
tossing  about  considerably  at  her  moorings  ;  and  Violet  pre- 
tended to  be  greatly  alarmed  because  she  did  not  see  half  a 
dozen  life-boats  on  board.  Then  the  word  was  given,  the 
cables  thrown  off,  and  presently  the  tiny  steamer  was  running 
out  to  the  windy  and  gray-green  sea,  the  waves  of  which 
not  unfrequently  sent  a  shower  of  spray  across  her  decks. 
The  small  party  of  voyagers  crouched  behind  the  funnel,  and 
were  well  out  of  the  water's  way. 

"  Look  there  now  1 "  cried  Mr.  Drummond,  suddenly  point- 
ing to  a  large  bird  that  was  flying  by,  high  up  in  the  air, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  "  do  you  see  that  ?  Do  you 
know  what  that  is  ?  That  is  a  wild  goose,  a  gray  lag,  that  has 
been  driven  in  by  bad  weather :  now  can  you  say  we  have  no 
waves,  and  winds,  and  sea  in  the  South  ? " 

Miss  Violet  was  not  daunted. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  goose,"  she  said,  coolly.  "  I  never  saw 
but  one  flying — you  remember  you  shot  it.  What  farm-yard 
has  this  one  left  ? " 

"  Oh,  for  shame,  Violet,"  Mrs.  Warrener  called  out,  "  to 
rake  up  old  stories  !  " 

She  was  punished  for  it.  The  insulted  sportsman  was  cast- 
ing about  for  the  cruelest  retort  he  could  think  of,  when,  as  it 
happened,  Miss  Violet  bethought  her  of  looking  round  the 
corner  of  the  boiler  to  see  whether  they  were  getting  near 
Ryde  ;  and  at  the  same  moment  it  also  happened  that  a  heavy 
wave,  striking  the  bows  of  the  steamer,  sent  a  heap  of  water 
whirling  down  between  the  paddle-box  and  the  funnel,  which 
caught  the  young  lady  on  the  face  with  a  crack  like  a  whip. 
As  to  the  shout  of  laughter  which  then  greeted  her,  that  small 
party  of  folks  had  heard  nothing  like  it  for  many  a  day. 
There  was  salt-water  dripping  from  her  hair,  salt-water  in  her 
eyes,  salt-water  running  down  her  tingling  and  laughing 
cheeks  ;  and  she  richly  deserved  to  be  asked,  as  she  was  im- 
mediately  asked,  whether  the  Solent  was  compounded  of 


O  GENTLE  WIND  THAT  BLOWETII  SOUTH.  383 

water  and  marl,  or  water  and  chalk,  and  which  brand  she 
preferred  ? 

Was  it  the  balmy  southern  air  that  tempered  the  vehe- 
mence of  these  wanderers  as  they  made  their  way  across  the 
island,  and,  getting  into  a  carriage  at  Ventnor,  proceeded  to 
drive  along  the  Undercliff  ?  There  was  a  great  quiet  prevail- 
ing along  these  southern  shores.  They  drove  by  underneath 
the  tall  and  crumbling  precipices,  with  wood-pigeons  suddenly 
shooting  out  from  the  clefts,  and  jackdaws  wheeling  about  far 
up  in  the  blue.  They  passed  by  sheltered  woods,  bestarred 
with  anemones  and  primroses,  and  showing  here  and  there 
the  purple  of  the,  as  yet,  half  opened  hyacinth  ;  they  passed  by 
lush  meadows,  all  ablaze  with  the  golden  yellow  of  the  celan- 
dine and  the  purple  of  the  ground  ivy ;  they  passed  by  the 
broken,  picturesque  banks  where  the  tender  blue  of  the  speed- 
well was  visible  from  time  to  time,  with  the  white  glimmer  of 
the  starwort.  And  then  all  this  time  they  had  on  their  left  a 
gleaming  and  wind-driven  sea,  full  of  motion,  and  light,  and 
color,  and  showing  the  hurrying  shadows  of  the  flying  clouds. 

At  last,  far  away,  secluded  and  quiet,  they  came  to  a  quaint 
little  inn,  placed  high  over  the  sea,  and  surrounded  by  shelter- 
ing woods  and  hedges.  The  sun  lay  warm  on  the  smooth, 
green  lawn  in  front,  where  the  daisies  grew.  There  were  dark 
shadows — almost  black  shadows — along  the  encircling  hedge 
and  under  the  cedars :  but  these  only  showed  the  more  brilliant- 
ly the  silver  lighting  of  the  restless,  whirling,  wind-swept  sea 
beyond.  It  was  a  picturesque  little  house,  with  its  long  veran- 
da half  smothered  in  ivy  and  rose-bushes  now  in  bud ;  with  its 
tangled  garden  about,  green  with  young  hawthorn  and  sweet- 
ened by  the  perfume  of  the  Hlacs ;  with  its  patches  of  uncut 
grass,  where  the  yellow  cowslips  drooped.  There  was  an  air 
of  dreamy  repose  about  the  place ;  even  that  whirling  and 
silvery-gray  sea  produced  no  sound ;  here  the  winds  were  stilled, 
and  the  black  shadows  of  the  trees  on  that  smooth,  green 
lawn  only  moved  with  the  imperceptible  moving  of  the  sun. 

Violet  went  up-stairs  and  into  her  room  alone ;  she  threw 
open  the  small  casements,  and  stood  there,  looking  out  with  a 
somewhat  vague  and  distant  look.  There  was  no  mischief 
now  in  those  dark  and  tender  eyes  ;  there  was  rather  an 
anxious  and  wistful  questioning.  And  her  heart  seemed  to  go 
out  from  her  to  implore  these  gentle  winds,  and  the  soft  colors 
of  the  sea,  and  the  dreamy  stillness  of  the  woods,  that  now 
they  should,  if  ever  that  was  possible  to  them,  bring  all  their 
sweet  and  curative  influences  to  bear  on  him  who  had  come 
among  them.     Now,  if  ever!     Surely  the  favorable  skies  would 


384  MADCAP  VI0LE7\ 

heed,  and  the  secret  healing  of  the  woods  would  hear,  and  the 
bountiful  life-giving  sea-winds  would  bestir  to  her  prayer ! — 
surely  it  was  not  too  late  ! 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

hope's  wings. 


The  long  journey  had  taxed  his  returning  strength  to  the 
utmost,  and  for  the  remainder  of  that  day  he  looked  worn  and 
fatigued  ;  but  on  the  next  morning  he  was  in  the  best  of  spirits, 
and  nothing  would  do  but  that  they  should  at  once  set  out  on 
their  explorations. 

"  Why  not  rest  here  ? "  said  Violet. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  shade  of  their  morning  room,  the 
French  windows  wide  open,  the  pillars  and  roof  of  the  veranda 
outside  framing  in  a  picture  of  glowing  sunlight  and  green  vege- 
tation, with  glimpses  of  the  silvery,  white  sea  beyond. 

"  Why  not  rest  here  ? "  she  said.  "  What  is  the  use  of  driv- 
ing about  to  see  bare  downs,  and  little  holes  in  the  mud  that 
they  call  chasms,  and  water-falls  that  are  turned  on  from  the 
kitchen  of  the  hotel  above }  That  is  what  they  consider 
scenery  in  the  Isle  of  Wight ;  and  then,  before  you  can  see  it, 
you  must  buy  a  glass  brooch  or  a  china  doll." 

The  fact  is,  he  did  not  himself  particularly  care  about  these 
excursions,  but  he  was  afraid  of  the  place  becoming  tiresome 
and  monotonous  to  one  whom  he  would  insist  on  regarding  as 
a  visitor.  She,  on  the  other  hand,  affected  a  profound  con- 
tempt for  the  sufficiently  pleasant  places  about  the  Isle  of 
Wight  for  the  very  purpose  of  inducing  him  to  rest  in  the  still 
seclusion  of  this  retreat  they  had  chosen.  But  here  was  the  car- 
riage at  the  door. 

"  Violet,"  said  Amy  Warrener,  as  they  were  leisurely  driv- 
ing along  the  quiet  ways,  under  the  crumbling  gray  cliffs,  where 
the  jackdaws  were  flying,  "  where  shall  we  go  for  a  climb  ? 
Don't  you  think  we  might  come  upon  another  Mount  Glori- 
oso  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  girl,  rather  absently ;  "  I  don't  think  we 
shall  see  another  Mount  Glorioso  soon  again." 

"  Not  this  autumn  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Drummond,  cheerfully ; 
"  not  this  summer  ? — for  why  should  we  wait  for  the  autumn  ? 
Violet,  I  have  the  most  serious  projects  with  regard  to  the 
whole  of  us.     It  is  high  time   that  I  set  about   recognizing 


HOPE'S  WINGS.  385 

the  ends  of  existence  ;  that  is  to  say,  before  I  die  I  must  have 
a  house  in  Bayswater  and  two  thousand  a  year.  All  nice 
novels  end  that  way.  Now,  in  order  that  we  shall  all  reach 
this  earthly  paradise,  what  is  to  done  ?  I  have  two  projects. 
A  publisher — the  first  wise  man  of  his  race — I  will  write  an 
epitaph  for  him  quite  different  from  my  universal  epitaph 
— this  shrewd  and  crafty  person,  determined  to  rescue  at  least 
one  mute,  inglorious  Milton  from  neglect,  has  written  to  me, 
There  !  He  has  read  my  article  on  "  The  Astronomical  The- 
ory with  Regard  to  the  Early  Religions ; "  he  has  perceived 
the  profound  wisdom,  the  research,  the  illuminating  genius  of 
that  work — by-the-way,  I  don't  think  I  ever  fully  explained  to 
you  my  notions  on  that  subject  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  please  don't !  "  said  Violet,  meekly.  "  What  does 
the  publisher  say  ?  " 

"  Do  you  see  the  mean,  practical,  commercial  spirit  of  these 
women  ? "  he  said,  apparently  addressing  himself ;  "  it  is  only 
the  money  they  think  of.     They  don't  want  to  be  instructed !  " 

"I  know  the  article  well  enough,"  said  Violet,  blushing 
hotly;  "I  read  it — I — I 'saw  it  advertised,  and  bought  the 
review,  when  I  hadn't  much  money  to  spend  on  such  things." 

"  Did  you,  Violet  ?  "  said  he,  forgetting  for  a  moment  his 
nonsense.  Then  he  continued  :  "  The  publisher  thinks  that 
with  some  padding  of  a  general  and  attractive  nature,  the 
subject  might  be  made  into  a  book.  Why,  therefore,  should 
not  our  fortune  be  made  at  once,  and  the  gates  of  Bayswater 
throWn  open  to  the  Peri  1  I  do  believe  I  could  make  an 
interesting  book.  I  will  throw  in  a  lot  of  Irish  anecdotes. 
I  wonder  if  I  could  have  it  illustrated  with  pictures  of  '  Charles 
the  First  in  Prison,'  the  '  Dying  Infant,'  *  The  Sailor's  Adieu,' 
and  some  such  popular  things  ! " 

"I  think,"  said  Violet,  humbly,  "we  might  go  on  to  the 
other  project." 

"Ah,"  said  he,  thoughtfully,  "  that  requires  time  and  silence 
first.  I  must  have  the  inspiration  of  the  mountains  before  I 
can  resolve  it.     Do  you  know  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  It  is  the  utilizing  of  a  great  natural  force.  That  is  what 
all  science  is  trying  to  do  now ;  and  here  is  one  of  the 
mightiest  forces  in  nature  of  which  nothing  is  made,  unless 
it  be  that  a  few  barges  get  floated  up  and  down  our  rivers. 
Do  you  see .''  The  great  mass  of  tidal  force,  absolutely  ir- 
resistible in  its  strength,  punctual  as  the  clock  itself,  always, 
to  be  calculated  on,  why  should  this  great  natural  engine  re- 
main unused  ? " 


<;86  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

"  But  then,  uncle,"  said  a  certain  young  lady,  "  if  you  made 
the  tide  drive  machinery  at  one  time  of  the  day,  you  would 
have  to  turn  the  house  round  to  let  it  drive  it  again  as  it  was 
going  back." 

"  Child,  child ! "  said  the  inventor,  peevishly,  "  why  do  you 
tack  on  these  petty  details  to  my  grand  conception  ?  It  is  the 
idea  I  want  to  sell ;  other  people  can  use  it.  Now,  will  the 
Government  grant  me  a  patent  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Violet. 

"  What  royalty  on  all  work  executed  by  utilizing  the  tidal 
currents }  " 

"  A  million  per  cent." 

"  How  much  will  that  bring  in  ? " 

"  Three  millions  a  minute." 

**  Ah,"  said  he,  sinking  back  with  a  sigh,  "  we  have  then 
reached  the  goal  at  last.  Bayswater,  we  approach  you.  Shall 
the  brougham  be  bottle-green  or  coffee-colored  ?  " 

"  A  brougham  !  "  cried  Violet ;  "  no — a  barge  of  white  and 
gold,  with  crimson-satin  sails,  and  oars  of  bronze,  towed  by  a 
company  of  snow-white  swans — " 

"  Or -mergansers — " 

"  And  floating  through  the  canals  of  claiet  which  we  shall 
set  flowing  in  the  streets.  Then  the  Lord-mayor  and  the 
Corporation  will  come  to  meet  you,  and  you  will  get  the  free- 
dom of  the  City  presented  in  a  gold  snuff-box.  As  for  Buck- 
ingham palace — well,  a  baronetcy  would  be  a  nice  thing." 

"  A  baronetcy  !  Three  millions  a  year  and  only  a  baronet ! 
By  the  monuments  of  Westminster  Abbey,  I  will  become  a 
duke  and  an  archbishop  rolled  into  one,  and  have  the  right 
of  sending  fifteen  people  a  day  to  be  beheaded  at  the  Tower ! " 

"  Oh,  not  that,  uncle  !  " 

"  And  why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  there  wouldn't  be  any  publishers  at  the  end  of 
the  year." 

"  And  here  we  are  at  Black  Gang  Chine  ! " 

Violet  would  not  go  down.  She  positively  refused  to  go 
down.  She  called  the  place  Black  Gang  Sham,  and  hoped 
they  were  pouring  enough  water  down  the  kitchen-pipe  of  the 
hotel  to  make  a  foaming  cataract.  But  she  begged  Mrs. 
Warrener  and  Amy,  who  had  not  seen  the  place,  to  go  down, 
while  she  remained  in  the  carriage  with  Mr.  Drummond.  So 
these  two  disappeared  into  the  bazaar. 

"  You  are  not  really  going  to  Scotland,  are  you  ? "  she 
said,  simply,  her  head  cast  down. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,"  he  answered ;  "  why  not  ? " 


HOPE'S  WINGS.  3S7 

"The  air  here  is  very  sweet  and  soft,"  she  said,  in  a  hesi- 
tating way;  "of  course,  I  know  the  climate  on  the  west  coast 
of  Scotland  is  very  mild,  and  you  would  get  the  mountain  air 
as  well  as  the  sea  air ;  but  don't  you  think  the  storms,  the 
gales  that  blow  in  the  spring — " 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "  I  shall  never  be  pulled  together 
till  I  get  up  to  the  North — I  know  that.  I  may  have  to  re- 
main here  till  I  get  stronger,  but  by-and-by  I  hope  we  shall 
all  go  up  to  Scotland  together,  and  that  long  before  the 
shooting  begins. 

"  I — I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  "  that  I  shall  not  be  of  the 
party." 

"  You  ?  Not  you  ? "  he  cried ;  "  you  are  not  going  to  leave 
us,  Violet,  just  after  we  have  found  you  ?  " 

He  took  her  hand,  but  she  still  averted  her  eyes. 

"  I  half  promised,"  she  said,  "  to  spend  some  time  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Dowse.  They  are  very  lonely.  They  think  they 
have  a  claim  on  me,  and  they  have  been  very  kind." 

"You  are  not  going  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dowse,  Violet,"  said 
he,  promptly.  "  I  pity  the  poor  people,  but  we  have  a  prior 
claim  on  you,  and  we  mean  to  insist  on  it.  What !  just  after 
all  this  grief  of  separation,  you  would  go  away  from  us  again  ? 
No,  no  !  I  tell  you,  Violet,  we  shall  never  find  you  your  real 
self  until  you  have  been  braced  up  by  the  sea-breezes.  I 
mean  the  real  sea-breezes.  You  want  a  scamper  among  the 
heather,  I  can  see  that ;  for  I  have  been  watching  you  of  late, 
and  you  are  not  up  to  the  right  mark.  The  sooner  we  all  go 
the  better.     Do  you  understand  that  ?  " 

He  had  been  talking  lightly  and  cheerfully,  not  caring  who 
overheard.  She,  on  the  other  hand,  was  anxious  and  embar- 
rassed, not  daring  to  utter  what  was  on  her  mind.  At  last 
she  said, 

"Will  you  get  down  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  walk  along 
the  road  ?     It  is  very  sheltered  here,  and  the  sun  is  warm." 

He  did  so,  and  she  took  his  arm,  and  they  walked  away 
apart  in  the  sunlight  and  silence.  When  they  had  gone  some 
distance,  she  stopped  and  said,  in  a  low  and  earnest  voice, 

"  Don't  you  know  why  I  can  not  go  to  the  Highlands  with 
you  1  It  would  kill  me.  How  could  I  go  back  to  all  those 
places  ? " 

"  I  understand  that  well  enough,  Violet,"  said  he,  gently ; 
"  but  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  go  for  the  very  purpose  of 
conquering  that  feeling  ?  There  is  nothing  in  that  part  of 
the  country  to  inspire  you  with  dread.  You  would  see  it  all 
again  in  its  accustomed  light."  .    .       .     , 


38S  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  he,  for  he  was  determined  not  to  let 
these  gloomy  impressions  of  the  girl  overcome  him  ;  "  if  not 
there,  somewhere  else.  We  are  not  tied  to  Castle  Bandbox. 
There  is  plenty  of  space  about  the  West  Highlands,  or  about 
the  Central  Highlands,  for  the  matter  of  that.  Shall  we  try 
to  get  some  lodging  in  an  inn  or  farm-house  about  the  Moor 
of  Rannoch  1  Or  will  you  try  the  islands — Jura,  or  Islay,  or 
Mull  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer ;  she  seemed  to  be  in  a  dream. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you,  Violet,  he  continued,  gravely  and  gently, 
"  why  I  want  you  to  come  with  us }  I  am  anxious  that  you 
and  I  should  be  together  as  long — as  long  as  that  is  possible. 
One  never  knows  what  may  happen,  and  lately — well,  we 
need  not  speak  of  it,  but  I  don't  wish  us  to  be  parted,  Violet." 

She  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  crying  and  sobbing.  She 
had  been  struggling  bravely  to  repress  this  gathering  emo- 
tion ;  but  his  direct  reference  to  the  very  thought  that  was 
overshadowing  her  mind  was  too  much  for  her.  And  along 
with  this  wild  grief  came  as  keen  remorse,  for  was  this  the 
conduct  required  of  an  attendant  upon  an  invalid  ? 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  don't  know 
what  it  is :   I  have  been  very  nervous  of  late — and — and — " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  cry  about,  Violet,"  said  he,  gently ; 
"  what  is  to  be,  is  to  be.  You  have  not  lost  your  old  cour- 
age ?     Only  let  us  be  together  while  we  can." 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love  ! "  she  suddenly  cried,  taking  his 
hand  in  both  of  hers,  and  looking  up  to  him  with  her  piteous, 
tear-dimmed  eyes,  "we  will  always  be  together!  What  is 
it  that  you  say.?  What  is  it  that  you  mean?  Not  that  you 
are  going  away  without  me  ?  I  have  courage  for  any  thing 
but  that.  It  does  not  matter  what  comes,  only  that  I  must 
go  with  you — we  two  together !  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  Violet !  '*  said  he,  soothingly,  for  he  saw 
that  the  girl  was  really  beside  herself  with  grief  and  appre- 
hension. *'  Come,  this  is  not  like  the  brave  Violet  of  old. 
I  thought  there  was  nothing  in  all  the  world  you  were  afraid 
to  face.     Look  up,  now." 

She  released  his  hand,  and  a  strange  expression  came  over 
her  face.  That  wild  outburst  had  been  an  involuntary  con- 
fession ;  now  a  great  fear  and  shame  filled  her  heart  that  she 
should  have  been  betrayed  into  it,  and  in  a  despairing,  pa- 
thetic fashion  she  tried  to  explain  away  her  words. 

"  We  shall  be  together,  shall  we  not  ?  "  she  said,  with  an 
afEected  cheerfulness,  though  she  was  still  crying  gently. 


HOPE'S  WINGS.  389 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  part  of  the  Highlands  you  go  to — 
I  will  go  with  you.  I  must  write  and  explain  to  Mrs.  Dowse. 
It  would  be  a  pity  that  we  should  separate  so  soon,  after  that 
long  time,  would  it  not  1  And  then  the  brisk  air  of  the  hills, 
and  of  the  yachting,  will  be  better  for  you  than  the  hot  sum- 
mer here,  won't  it  ?  And  I  am  sure  you  will  get  very  well 
there  ;  that  is  just  the  place  for  you  to  get  strong ;  and  when 
the  time  for  the  shooting  comes,  we  shall  all  go  out,  as  we  used 
to  do,  to  see  you  missing  every  bird  that  gets  up." 

She  tried  to  smile,  but  did  not  succeed  very  well. 

"  And  really  it  does  not  matter  to  me  so  very  much  what 
part  we  go  to,  for,  as  you  say,  one  ought  to  conquer  these 
feelings ;  and  if  you  prefer  Castle  Bandbox,  I  will  go  there, 
too — that  is,  I  shall  be  very  proud  to  go  if  I  am  not  in  the 
way.  And  you  know  I  am  the  only  one  who  can  make  car- 
tridges for  you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  trouble  the  cartridges  very  much," 
said  he,  glad  to  think  she  was  becoming  more  cheerful. 

"  Indeed,"  she  continued,  "  I  don't  know  what  would  have 
become  of  your  gun  if  I  had  not  looked  after  it,  for  you  only 
half  cleaned  it,  and  old  Peter  would  not  touch  it,  and  the 
way  the  sea  air  rusted  the  barrels  was  quite  remarkable. 
Will  you  have  No.  3  or  No.  4  shot  this  year  for  the  sea-birds  ? " 

"  Well,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "  you  see  we  shall  have  no 
yacht  this  year,  and  probably  no  chances  of  wild  duck  at  all ; 
and  it  would  scarcely  be  worth  while  to  make  cartridges 
merely  to  fire  away  at  these  harmless  and  useless  sea-pyots 
and  things  of  that  sort." 

"Oh,  but  my  papa  could  easily  get  us  a  yacht,"  she  said, 
promptly  ;  "  he  would  be  delighted — I  know  he  would  be  de- 
lighted. And  I  have  been  told  you  can  get  a  small  yacht  for 
about  forty  pounds  a  month,  crew  and  everything  included, 
and  what  is  that  ?  Indeed,  I  think  it  is  quite  necessary  you 
should  have  a  yacht." 

"  Forty  pounds,"  said  he  ;  "  I  think  we  could  manage  that. 
But  then  we  should  deduct  something  from  the  wages  of  the 
crew  on  the  strength  of  our  taking  our  own  cook  with  us. 
Do  you  remember  that  cook  ?  She  had  a  wonderful  trick  of 
making  apricot-jam  puddings  :  how  the  dickens  she  managed 
to  get  so  much  jam  crammed  in  I  never  could  make  out. 
She  was  just  about  as  good  at  that  as  at  making  cartridges. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  that  cook  ?  " 

By  this  time  they  had  walked  gently  back  to  the  carriage, 
and  now  Mrs.  Warrener  and  her  daughter  made  their  appear- 
ance.    The  elder  woman  noticed  something  strange  about 


550  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Violet's  expression,  but  she  did  not  speak  of  it,  for  surely  the 
girl  was  happy  enough  ?  She  was,  indeed,  quite  merry. 
She  told  Mrs.  Warrener  she  was  ready  to  go  with  them  to  the 
Highlands  whenever  they  chose.  She  proposed  that  this 
time  they  should  go  up  the  Caledonian  Canal,  and  go  down  by 
Loch  Maree,  and  then  go  out  and  visit  the  western  isles. 
She  said  the  sooner  they  went,  the  better ;  they  would  get  all 
the  beautiful  summer  of  the  North  ;  it  was  only  the  autumn 
tourists  who  complained  of  the  rain  of  the  Highlands. 

"  But  we  had  little  rain  last  autumn,"  said  Mrs.  Warrener. 

"Oh,  very  little  indeed,"  said  Violet,  quite  brightly;  "we 
had  charming  weather  all  through.  I  never  enjoyed  myself 
anywhere  so  much.  I  think  the  sooner  your  brother  gets  up 
to  the  Highlands,  the  better ;  it  will  do  him  a  world  of  good." 


CHAPTER  XLVH. 

DU   SCHMERZENSREICHE  ! 

So  the  long,  silent,  sunlit  days  passed,  and  it  seemed  to 
the  three  patient  watchers  that  the  object  of  their  care  was 
slowly  recovering  health  and  strength.  But  if  they  were  all 
willing  and  eager  to  wait  on  him,  it  was  Violet  who  was  his 
constant  companion  and  friend,  his  devoted  attendant,  his 
humble  scholar.  Sometimes  when  Mrs.  Warrener's  heart 
grew  sore  within  her  to  think  of  the  wrong  that  had  been 
wrought  in  the  past,  the  tender  little  woman  tried  to  solace 
herself  somewhat  by  regarding  these  two  as  they  now  sat  to- 
gether— he  the  whimsical,  affectionate,  playful,  and  kindly 
master,  she  the  meek  pupil  and  disciple,  forgetting  all  the 
proud  dignity  of  her  maidenhood,  her  fire,  and  audacity,  and 
independence,  in  the  humility  and  self-surrender  of  her  love. 
Surely,  she  thought,  this  time  was  making  up  for  much  of  the 
past.  And  if  all  went  well  now,  what  had  they  to  look  for- 
ward to  but  a  still  closer  companionship  in  which  the  proud 
and  loyal  and  fearless  girl  would  become  the  tender  and  obe- 
dient wife.-*  There  was  no  jealousy  in  the  nature  of  this 
woman.  She  would  have  laughed  with  joy  if  she  could  have 
heard  their  marriage-bells. 

And  Violet,  too,  when  the  sun  lay  warm  on  the  daisies  and 
cowslips,  when  the  sweet  winds  blew  the  scent  of  the  lilacs 
about,  and  when  her  master  and  teacher  grew  strong  enough 
to  walk  with  her  along  the  quiet  woodland  ways,  how  could 


DU  SCHMERZENSREICIIEl 


391 


she  fail  to  pick  up  some  measure  of  cheerfulness  and  hope  ? 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  she  had  dropped  into  a  new  world  ; 
and  it  was  a  beautiful  world,  full  of  tenderness,  and  laughter, 
and  sunshine.  Henceforth  there  was  to  be  no  more  George 
Miller  to  bother  her ;  he  had  gone  clean  out  of  existence,  as 
far  as  she  was  concerned ;  there  was  no  more  skirmishing 
with  Lady  North ;  even  the  poor  Dowses,  with  their  piteous 
loneliness  and  solemn  house,  were  almost  forgotten.  Here 
was  her  whole  world.  And  when  she  noticed  the  increasing 
distances  that  he  walked,  and  the  brighter  look  of  his  face, 
and  the  growing  courage  and  carelessness  of  his  habits,  then, 
indeed,  the  world  became  a  beautiful  world  to  her,  and  she 
was  almost  inclined  to  fall  in  love  with  those  whirling  and 
gleaming  southern  seas. 

It  was  in  the  black  night-time,  when  all  the  household  but 
herself  were  asleep,  that  she  paid  the  penalty  of  these  tran- 
sient joys.  Haunted  by  the  one  terrible  fear,  she  could  gain 
no  rest ;  it  was  in  vain  that  she  tried  to  reason  with  herself  ; 
her  imagination  was  like  some  hideous  fiend  continually  whis- 
pering to  her  ear.  Then  she  had  no  friend  with  whom  to 
share  these  terrible  doubts ;  she  dared  not  mention  them  to 
any  human  soul.  Why  should  she  disturb  the  gentle  confi- 
dence of  his  sister  and  her  daughter  ?  She  could  not  make 
them  miserable  merely  to  lift  from  her  own  mind  a  portion 
of  its  anxiety.  She  could  only  lie  awake,  night  after  night, 
and  rack  her  brain  with  a  thousand  gloomy  forebodings. 
She  recalled  certain  phrases  he  had  used  in  moments  of 
pathetic  confidence.  She  recalled  the  quick  look  of  pain  with 
which  he  sometimes  paused  in  the  middle  of  his  speech,  the 
almost  involuntary  raising  the  hand  to  the  region  of  the  heart, 
the  passing  pallor  of  the  face.  Had  they  seen  none  of  those 
things  ?  Had  they  no  wild,  despairing  thoughts  about  them  ? 
Was  it  possible  they  could  go  peacefully  to  sleep  with  this 
dread  thing  hanging  over  them,  with  a  chance  of  awaking  to 
a  day  of  bitter  anguish  and  wild,  heart-broken  farewell  ?  This 
cruel  anxiety,  kept  all  to  herself  was  killing  the  girl.  She 
grew  restless  and  feverish  ;  sometimes  she  sat  up  half  the 
night  at  the  window  listening  to  the  moaning  of  the  dark  sea 
outside  :  she  became  languid  during  the  day,  pale,  and  dis- 
traite.    But  it  was  not  to  last  long. 

One  evening  these  two  were  together  in  the  small  parlor,  he 
lying  down,  she  sitting  near  him  with  a  book  in  her  hand. 
The  French  windows  were  open  ;  they  could  hear  Mrs.  War- 
rener  and  her  daughter  talking  in  the  garden.  And,  strangely 
enough,  the  sick  man's  thoughts  were  once  more  turned  to 


392  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

the  far  Highlands,  and  to  their  life  among  the  hills,  and  the 
pleasant  merry-making  on  board  the  Sea-Pyot. 

"  The  air  of  this  place  does  not  agree  with  you  at  all,  Vio- 
let," he  was  saying.  ''  You  are  not  looking  nearly  so  well  as 
you  did  when  we  came  down.  You  are  the  only  one  who  has 
not  benefited  by  the  change.  Now  that  won't  do ;  we  can 
not  have  a  succession  of  invalids — a  Greek  frieze  of  patients, 
all  carrying  phials  of  medicine.  We  must  get  off  to  the 
Highlands  at  once.     What  do  you  say — a  fortnight  hence  ?  " 

She  knelt  down  beside  him  and  took  his  hand,  and  said,  in 
a  low  voice, 

''Do  not  be  angry  with  me — it  is  very  unreasonable,  I  know 
— but  I  have  a  strange  dread  of  the  Highlands.  I  have 
dreamed  so  often  lately  of  being  up  there — and  of  being  swept 
away  on  a  dark  sea — in  the  middle  of  the  night." 

She  shuddered.     He  put  his  hand  gently  on  her  head. 

"There  is  no  wonder  you  should  dream  of  that,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile.  "  That  is  only  part  of  the  story  which  you  made 
us  all  believe.  But  we  have  got  a  brighter  finish  for  it  now. 
You  have  not  been  overwhelmed  in  that  dark  flood  yet — " 

He  paused. 

"  Violet ! — my  love  !  "  he  suddenly  cried. 

He  let  go  her  hand,  and  made  a  wild  grasp  at  his  left  breast ; 
his  face  grew  white  with  pain.  What  made  her  instinctively 
throw  her  arms  round  him,  with  terror  in  her  eyes  ? 

"  Violet — what  is  this  ? — kiss  me  !  " 

It  was  but  one  second  after  that  that  a  piercing  shriek  rang 
through  the  place.  The  girl  had  sprung  up  like  a  deer  shot 
through  the  heart ;  her  eyes  dilated,  her  face  wild  and  pale. 
Mrs.  Warrener  came  running  in;  but  paused,  and  almost 
retreated  in  fear  from  the  awful  spectacle  before  her ;  for  the 
girl  still  held  the  dead  man's  hand,  and  she  was  laughing  mer- 
rily. The  dark  sea  that  she  had  dreaded  had  overtaken  her 
at  last. 

But  one  more  scene — months  afterward.  It  is  the  breakfast- 
room  in  Lady  North's  house  in  Euston  Square,  and  Anatolia 
is  sitting  there  alone.  The  door  opens,  and  a  tall  young  girl, 
dressed  in  a  white  morning  costume,  comes  silently  in  :  there 
is  a  strange  and  piteous  look  of  trouble  in  her  dark  eyes. 
Anatolia  goes  over  to  her,  and  takes  her  hand  very  tenderly, 
and  leads  her  to  the  easy-chair  she  had  herself  just  quitted. 

"  There  is  not  any  letter  yet  ?  "  she  asks,  having  looked  all 
round  the  table  v,dth  a  sad  and  v/earied  air. 

"No,  denr.  not  vet,"  savs  Anatolia,  who,  unlcvclv  thoudi 


DU  SCHMERZENSREICHE  !  393 

she  may  be,  has  a  sympathetic  heart ;  and  her  lip  trembles  as 
she  speaks.     "  You  must  be  patient,  Violet." 

"  It  is  another  morning  gone,  and  there  is  no  letter,  and  I 
can  not  understand  it,"  says  the  girl,  apparently  to  herself; 
and  then  she  begins  to  cry  silently,  while  her  half-sister  goes 
to  her,  and  puts  her  arm  round  her  neek,  and  tries  to  soothe 
her. 

Lady  North  comes  into  the  room.  Some  changes  have  hap- 
pened within  these  few  months  ;  it  is  "  Mother "  and  "  My 
child  "  now  between  the  enemies  of  yore.  And  as  she  bids 
Violet  good-morning,  and  gently  kisses  her,  the  girl  renews 
her  complaint. 

"  Mother,  why  do  they  keep  back  his  letter  ?  I  know  he 
must  have  written  to  me  long  ago ;  and  I  can  not  go  to  him 
until  I  get  the  letter !  and  he  will  wonder  why  I  am  not  com- 
ing. Morning  after  morning  I  listen  for  the  postman — I  can 
hear  him  in  the  street — from  house  to  house — and  they  all  get 
their  letters,  but  I  don't  get  this  one,  that  is  worth  all  the  world 
to  me.  And  I  never  neglected  any  thing  that  he  said — and  I 
was  always  very  obedient  to  him — and  he  will  wonder  now 
that  I  don't  go  to  him,  and  perhaps  he  will  think  that  I  am 
among  my  other  friends  now,  and  have  forgotten —  No,  he 
will  not  think  that.     I  have  not  forgotten." 

"  My  child,  you  must  not  vex  yourself,"  says  Lady  North, 
with  all  the  tenderness  of  which  she  is  capable  ;  and  Anatolia 
is  bitterly  crying  all  the  while.  "  It  will  be  all  right.  And 
you  must  not  look  sad  to-day ;  for  you  know  Mrs.  Warrener 
and  your  friend  Amy  are  coming  to  see  you." 

She  does  not  seem  to  pay  much  heed. 

"  Shall  we  go  for  the  flowers  to-day  ?  "  she  asks,  with  her 
dark,  wet  eyes  raised  for  the  first  time. 

"  My  darling,  this  is  not  the  day  we  go  for  the  flowers ;  that 
is  to-morrow." 

"  And  what  is  the  use  of  it  ?  "  she  says,  letting  her  head 
sink  sadly  again.  "  Every  time  I  go  over  to  Nunhead  I  listen 
— all  by  myself — and  I  know  he  is  not  there  at  all.  The 
flowers  look  pretty,  because  his  name  is  over  them ;  but  he  is 
not  there  at  all — he  is  far  away — and  he  was  to  send  me  a 
message — and  every  day  I  wait  for  it — and  they  keep  the 
letter  back.     Mother,  are  all  my  dresses  ready  ? " 

"Yes,  Violet." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  ? '' 

"  They  are  all  ready,  Violet ;  don't  trouble  about  that." 

"  It  is  the  white  satin  one  he  will  like  the  best ;  and  he  will 
be  pleased  that  I  am  not  in  black,  like  the  others.     Mother, 


394  MADCAP  VIOLET. 

Mrs.  Warrener  and  Amy  surely  can  not  mean  to  come  to  the 
wedding  in  black  ?  " 

"  Surely  not,  Violet !     But  come,  dear,  to  your  breakfast." 

She  took  her  place  quite  calmly  and  humbly  ;  but  her  mind 
was  still  wandering  towards  that  picture. 

"  I  hope  they  will  strew  the  church-yard  with  flowers  as  we 
pass  through  it — not  for  me,  but  for  him,  for  he  will  be  pleased 
with  that ;  and  there  is  more  than  all  that  is  in  the  Prayer- 
book  that  I  will  promise  to  be  to  him,  when  we  two  are  kneel- 
ing together.  You  are  quite  sure,  mother,  that  every  thing 
is  ready  .'' " 

"  Every  thing,  my  darling." 

"  And  you  think  the  message  from  him  will  come  soon 
now  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  will  come  soon  now,  Violet,"  was  the  answer, 
given  with  trembling  lips. 


And  now  to  you — you  whose  names  are  written  in  these 
blurred  pages,  some  portion  of  whose  lives  I  have  tried  to 
trace  with  a  wandering  and  uncertain  pen — I  stretch  out  a 
hand  of  farewell.  Yet  not  quite  of  farewell,  perhaps ;  for, 
amidst  all  the  shapes  and  phantoms  of  this  world  of  mys- 
tery, where  the  shadows  we  meet  can  tell  us  neither  whence 
they  came  nor  whither  they  go,  surely  you  have  for  me  a  no 
less  substantial  existence  that  may  have  its  chances  in  the 
time  to  come.  To  me  you  are  more  real  than  most  I  know 
what  wonder,  then  if  I  were  to  meet  you  on  the  threshold  of 
the  great  unknown  you  all  shining  with  a  new  light  on  your 
face  ?  Trembling,  I  stretch  out  my  hands  to  you,  for  your 
silence  is  awful,  and  there  is  sadness  in  your  eyes ;  but  the 
day  may  come  when  you  will  speak,  and  I  shall  hear — and 
understand. 


THE  END. 


E.  B.  Sheldon  &  Co.,  Composition  and  Elkctrotyping, 
393  State  St.,  New  Haven,  Conn, 


(^. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED      ; 

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